


Here There be Monsters

by copperleaves



Category: The Stand (TV 2020), The Stand - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bisexual Female Character of Color, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Nick Andros, Canon - Book, Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Canonical Character Death, Cross-Generational Friendship, Deaf Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Female Friendship, Female Glen Batemen, Female Ralph Brenter, Fix-It of Sorts, Former Sex Worker Nick Andros, Friendship/Love, Gender or Sex Swap, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plague, Rating: NC17, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Two Dumbass Bisexuals, Until They Dumbass Fall in Love, Vaginal Fingering, because OC, being dumbasses, beware of FLU, but a smidge of 2020 adaptation, but only like sorta, just LOTS of friendship okay???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 73,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29228733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperleaves/pseuds/copperleaves
Summary: "When the map says 'Here There Be Monsters', I know you’ll fight them all, and I wanna be the one to fight them with you."Nick Andros didn't ask for a front row seat to the end of the world, but here he is, and there it goes. It all starts with the dreams: lost in a cornfield searching for a woman he's never met before. Her name is Kai, and she's dreaming of him too. Meanwhile Captain Trips sinks its teeth into the world, and something evil slouches toward Bethlehem to be born.
Relationships: Nick Andros/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, friends! Here I am with a new fic in a new fandom when y'all know perfectly well I have unfinished fics hanging out there like poisoned apples. Goddamn Scarlet Letter shit up in here. But anyway, shit happens and so does fic.
> 
> So basically this is retelling NICK'S story with the addition of my OC, and of course a few changes because I'm not just rewriting the damn book here. Consider it an AU, if you will. So if you encounter details along the way that are different, well there ya go. AU.
> 
> I'm going to put a longer note at the end to clarify a few things, but for now I want to remind everyone that, of course, Nick Andros is a deaf, non-orally speaking character. That isn't all that important in this chapter, but in ch2 and beyond, keep it in mind. Unless I explicitly state that he's written something, if he's speaking, he's signing. I use "said" and "signed" interchangeably, but (except in the dreams) he's never speaking aloud. As for my OC, if she's talking to Nick, same deal. She might be speaking aloud as she signs, but she's always signing, too.
> 
> I'd love to hear from you guys. I've got a chunk of this written, but it's nowhere near finished, so encouragement is greatly appreciated. I'm going to release chapters 1 & 2 back to back, then start releasing maybe once a week? But pls let me know what you're thinking, because fanfic writers live or die by comments!
> 
> If you're bored come check out my tumblr, binickandros, or my fic tumblr, juiceinpanties. Which is not dirty, despite how it sounds. Minds out of the gutter!

**there must be some kinda way outta here  
said the joker to the thief  
**Bob Dylan, "All Along the Watchtower" **  
**

 **June 15 - Abilene, La**  
Before she even opened her eyes she knew something was wrong.

How could this be a dream? She could feel the sun-warmed earth under her back. Smell its dry mineral scent. Hear the dusty rustling of something—corn, she found out when she finally peeked—in the breeze.

She had fallen asleep in her bed in Abilene, Louisiana and somehow woken in a goddamn corn field.

It _had_ to be a dream, because she didn't believe in aliens, at least not the kind that beamed people up from their beds and dropped them off in corn fields. She pushed herself to her feet and tried to get her bearings, but the corn was taller than she was.

Early, she thought, for corn that high.

She thought she could hear, off in the distance, the familiar twang of guitar strings. Another person? Or a radio?

"Hello?" she called.

Silence and the wind were the only reply.

"Hello?" she said again, louder. "Is anyone out there? Hello?!"

"Kai?"

The voice was familiar to her, as familiar as her own. He sounded far away, further even than the guitar.

"Nick?!" she cried. "Nick, is that you?"

"Kai! I'm coming! Keep shouting!"

She opened her mouth to call for him again, but above her head the sky darkened and thunder rumbled to drown out her voice. She shivered in the sudden chill.

" _Edie_ …," another, much closer voice whispered. Now that was a familiar name, the one everyone called her. She hadn't been called Kai since her mother died thirteen years ago, yet it had sounded so right. Perfectly familiar.

"Kai! Where are you? Say something!" the first voice called.

She opened her mouth to answer, but shot a look over her shoulder at the hissing whisper behind her.

" _Edie…this way…we know where you belong_."

 _We?_ she thought. _We who?_

She stepped toward that second voice and reached out to the wall of stalks. Her fingers trembled. Above her the thunder rolled. The wind rocked the corn, and she squinted to see between the green and gold wave. Dark. The sun swallowed by clouds, and darkness in the field.

"Kai!" His voice was faint now, clearly heading away from her, and at that thought her heart lurched in a painful spasm of loss.

"Nick!" she cried and spun away from the beckoning hiss. "Nick, over here! Don't lose me!"

* * *

Back in her own bed, she awoke with a jerk and an incoherent cry. Sweat coated her in a thin film and the sheet was wrapped around her legs like a winding cloth. She kicked it away in a fury of claustrophobia and fell back against the pillow panting like a cornered animal.

What the fuck?! She'd never heard that voice before in her life, but she'd _known_ it, known the man behind it as well as she knew herself. Better, maybe. _Nick._ Had she ever even met anyone named Nick? Surely, at some point, but she couldn't recall him now.

And he'd called her _Kai._ Her middle name. The name her mom had chosen for her, a reminder of crystal blue waters that surrounded the Hawaiian home of her childhood, of her native Hawaiian blood.

She let out a ragged sigh and threw her legs over the edge of the bed. It was almost seven AM. Maybe that was the problem: she'd stayed up too late last night arguing over those fucking divorce papers, and now she'd slept too late in the morning, and her brain was sending her bizarre, overly-realistic dreams as a result.

It made as much sense as anything else.

Out of bed now, she pulled on her running clothes: running pants, sports bra, t-shirt, those fancy socks she'd splurged on to prevent blisters; and wandered toward the kitchen.

And where the fuck was Remy? He'd said he would be in around midnight last night, but there was no sign of him in the little bungalow (he was 6'5" and nearly impossible to miss), and only her car sat in the driveway. Scowling, she flipped the switch on the coffeemaker and went to find her phone. Maybe he'd gotten tired on the road and stopped in somewhere, or maybe he'd decided to head to his place instead of hers.

She was just passing back through the living room on her way to the bedroom when she heard a car engine outside. Speak of the damn devil. She opened the front door and winced at the heavy, humid air that invaded her air conditioned space. An entire life lived in the South, and she still hated the heat and humidity.

"Rem!" she said as he poured himself out of the truck. "There you are! You're like seven hours late."

He stumbled closer (drunk? no…), and when he raised his head to look at her she couldn't suppress a flinch. Something was very wrong, and she didn't think it was drink. She knew what a drunk man looked like; this wasn't it.

"Jesus Christ, you look like shit," she said at last. She tried to keep her voice light, but something in it trembled.

He didn't seem to notice. "Feel like shit." He dragged himself up the porch stairs and she stepped back to let him in past her. "Got some kinda cold or flu or somethin'. Started feelin' bad yesterday afternoon. Figured I could push through, but I had to stop for some sleep. Wanted to get home, though. Left outta there like five. Fuck, babe, help me. Room's all spinnin'."

"Yeah," she said, breaking out of the trance the sight of him had frozen her into. "Yeah, of course. Let's get you in bed and I'll make you some tea and some soup."

As she stepped closer and tucked herself under his arm she couldn't help but notice the heat that radiated from him, and how bad his breathing sounded: thick, labored, nearly choking. There was swelling under his jaw and in the armpit pressed against her shoulder. They made it to the bedroom, and she tugged his boots off as he flopped across the bed, the frame creaking in alarmed protest at his sudden weight.

"Have you taken anything?" she said, though she already knew the answer.

"Fuck no. I got an immune system, don't I?"

 _Maybe_ , she thought. _Seems to be in the weeds at the moment._ "Well. Let's help it out a little, why don't we?" She frowned down at him and pressed the back of her hand against his sweaty forehead. "Rem, you're burning up. Like, seriously hot. Let me go get the thermometer, and…I think I should call the doctor."

"Doctor?" He broke off to cough, deep and rumbling and scary as shit. "What's the doc gonna do? Gimme some Tylenol and tell me to drink fluids. I'll be fine, Eds." He said it with a long _e_ , though it sounded slurred and garbled in his illness-thickened voice.

"Maybe more than that. At least let me call Sarah."

He gave a clogged snort. "Great idea, genius. Might as well put a shotgun to my head."

Something in his tone made her pulse kick up several unpleasant notches. That…wasn't how he talked to her. To anyone, but especially not to her. Remy hated doctors and despised being sick, but in the six years she'd known him, that was the closest he'd ever been to sounding…mean.

He cracked a bloodshot eye and glared at her. "You just gonna stand there useless as a bump on a pickle, Eden d'Arnaud, or you gonna get me my goddamn soup?"

She took two slow steps backwards. "Sure, Rem," she said, her voice low and even. "I'll be right back." It took all her self control not to run once she was in the hall, and when she got to the kitchen she gripped the counter with both hands and dragged in several rough, gasping breaths.

 _Useless as a bump on a pickle_. It was one of her father's favorite sayings. The guys at the DMV were useless as a bump on a pickle. The LSU offensive line when they let the QB get sacked. His idiot boss down at the refinery. And, of course, Edie herself when she didn't do exactly as he wanted before he even asked for it.

She hadn't heard that turn of phrase since she was seventeen, and she sure as fuck hadn't missed it. Hearing it now, from Remy's mouth, when he had come home so sick out of nowhere and not at all himself….

And her name. Her full name (minus the middle; that one had belonged to her mother alone). She was having a weird morning with names and it wasn't even eight yet. He'd sounded just like her father, exactly like him, and Remy had never met the man. Never heard more than a few passing anecdotes, most of them good, because for all that he'd been an abusive, drunken bastard, it hadn't been _all_ bad. Not every second.

She should call Sarah. Remy would bitch about it, and Sarah wouldn't exactly be thrilled to hear from her ( _Hey, if you're not busy could you maybe come check on my snotty boyfriend? 'Kay thanks bye!_ ), but she'd come. She hadn't been a practicing doctor since they'd opened the restaurant, but it wasn't like all those years of medical school had just evaporated.

She was reaching for her phone when she remembered she'd left it in the bedroom. Fuck. Okay, no problem. She'd make the soup, and when she went to drop it off she'd grab her phone, call Sarah, and maybe go for her run. But the way Remy looked she wasn't sure she should leave him alone.

She stood chewing her lip in a long moment of indecision until she shook herself out of it. Now was not the time to go deer-in-the-headlights. Remy had frozen some of his homemade chicken soup just last month. He'd want that rather than the canned crap, even though it would take longer to heat up. In the meantime she could bring him a slice of the bread she'd made last night, with honey. And the tea.

_Eden Kai!_

She dropped the box of teabags with a clatter and spun around. No. Remy was the only other person in the house. Dreams about random voices calling her name combined with this morning's weirdness…no wonder she was hearing things.

_Eden Kai! Get out of that house. They comin' for him. They comin' for YOU!_

She let out a soft cry and pressed a hand to her mouth. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?! Was she having a psychotic break? Imagining Remy was turning into her father and hearing random voices from the sky?!

_They comin', little girl. Get out NOW!_

A woman's voice, warm and deep but cracked with age. Commanding like nothing she'd ever heard before. Remy was sick. Sick as she'd ever seen. What if he'd picked up some exotic new bug on his trip to Texas? Something super contagious—deadly even. Something the government might want to contain.

But could she just leave him? Leave him to…die. Because that's what was happening. He was dying. Anyone with eyes could see it. No one could sustain a fever that high, could live with that much phlegm bubbling in their lungs. Whatever it was he had, she'd have it now too. So what was the point of running?

The voice must know something she didn't. Something about Remy, or about her. As insane as it was to listen to random voices in the air, nothing about the last two hours of her life (dream-time included) could be described as _normal,_ so at this point what the fuck did she have to lose?

She headed for the bedroom and paused a second to listen to Remy's breathing. It seemed to have gotten worse. He made low noises of distress and tossed and turned on the mattress. What kind of heartless monster could just leave him like this? Alone and dying?

If the voice was right, he wouldn't be alone for long. Whoever was coming would know how to take care of him, maybe even have a cure.

Mind made up, she hurried to the closet and burrowed her way to the back of it. She kept a bag there, a bug-out bag, and after a few moments' digging, her hand closed on the strap and she yanked it free. In it were a few changes of clothes, cash, a fake ID, and some other essentials for the modern girl on the run.

"Edie?" Remy moaned from the bed. "Eds, that you?"

He sounded like himself again, though weak and sick. She hesitated. "Yeah, babe, it's me. Try to get some rest. Help is coming."

"Help?" He let out a rasping, choking laugh that chilled her to the marrow. "Ain't no help for me, baby girl. Them's buzzards that's comin', that's all. Buzzards for m'eyes and jackals for m'bones." He jerked upright, his wild eyes fixed and staring, and raised a meaty hand to point straight at her. "Then they're comin' for you, Edie. Comin' to eat you all up! The coyotes is _his,_ baby girl, and they're lookin' for _you_! _They know what you did_!" He laughed again until he coughed, and he coughed until she thought it might kill him.

Eyes huge in a naturally tan face suddenly gone deathly pale, she took several steps back toward the door and stumbled from the room. In the kitchen she shoved some protein bars and bottles of water into her bag, yanked her shoes onto her feet, and grabbed her keys from the hook by the door.

She closed her eyes and slumped against the wall. Fuck. She'd forgotten her phone again. It was on the nightstand. By the bed. The bed Remy was currently in.  
She shuddered once, hard. No. Forget it. Whoever was coming for him could use it to track her, and who the fuck did she have to call anyway? Besides Sarah, but if they were coming for Remy, and they were coming for her, they'd be watching Sarah. And the restaurant.

Before she'd even made the final decision she found herself in the car. She started it and gripped the steering wheel with shaking hands. Okay. Leaving. Driving away with Remy sick nearly to death in her bed and at the direction of a disembodied voice shouting at her in the kitchen.

 _Just go_ , she told herself. _Just put the car in drive and get the fuck out of here._

And so that's just what she did.

 **June 16 - Watts, OK**  
The morning after Edie d'Arnaud, the woman he'd come to know as Kai but who he didn't know at all just yet, took off from her Louisiana home, Nick Andros slept in a hayloft and dreamt.

A cornfield, the stalks higher than his head. The distant sound of music, and the even more distant call of a woman's voice. His name. Urgently, like her heart would break if she didn't find him. And he called back to her as though his would too, and dream-Nick never stopped to wonder how he recognized music or the sound of his own name, since he'd never heard either of those things before.

As he called her, what struck him as odd wasn't that he was _speaking_ it, aloud, with a voice waking-Nick didn't possess, but that as he said it he signed _water_ over and over. _Water_ and sometimes _sea,_ a series of waves with both hands, but that didn't seem strong enough, too gentle and easy to describe the human force of nature that was the woman he sought.

But as his eyes snapped open and the dream washed away in a confused memory, he knew he'd never met her at all. Of course he didn't know the voice; he'd never heard a voice before in his life; but he didn't know the name, either. _Kai._ Thoughtfully he signed it as he had in the dream: _water._ He rolled over and dug his phone out of his backpack. He had to guess at the spelling, but apparently he got it right, because his Google search told him that the word _kai_ meant _sea_ in native Hawaiian, and also in Japanese.

 _Water_ , he thought. Maybe a little simplistic, even insulting, for someone named after the ocean. But then that hardly mattered, because she was just a weird figment of his subconscious anyway. Like the corn and the music and the freak thunderstorm.

Like the crows that cawed like death omens and the coyotes that circled on padded feet.

Nick shuddered and hid his phone away again. It was his last day working the farm before he headed north, further into Oklahoma and then maybe after that up into Arkansas, and if he didn't get his ass moving he'd miss breakfast. He was skinny enough, and the work was hard enough, without skipping meals.

He tugged his dark curls back into a stub of a ponytail with a frustrated grimace. He needed a haircut, but that would have to wait until after he got paid. In the meantime he had to keep it out of his face, because he couldn't stand messing with it all day.

It was already hot up in the loft, and only going to get hotter as the day went on. By the time he returned to his makeshift bed, well after dark, it would have cooled enough to make sleeping bearable, but only just.

He really didn't have enough hours of sleep time to waste having bizarre dreams about cornfields.

He found himself signing her name (or his version of it) again as he got dressed, the way other people might hum or whistle. He'd known her, in the dream. Been desperate to find her, like if he didn't the world would end and he'd be stuck in that fucking cornfield forever.

He descended the ladder, and as he rounded the corner one of the farm hands sneezed into a bandana, three times in violent succession. Nick signed a quick bless you, and he nodded his thanks.

"Summer cold comin' on, I reckon," he said. "Don't got time for it, so let's hope it just passes on through."

Nick nodded in commiseration. They had fence to run up in the north pasture, something that would take most of the day, and then they had to move the animals out of the south pasture…but that would probably be tomorrow. One more night here, two more days, and he'd move on. He didn't like to overstay his welcome, and once the work moved more into cowboy stuff, that wasn't really his area. Cows and horses were fine, but they made him nervous.

He rolled up his sleeves and dragged a forearm across his sweaty forehead. Maybe at his next stop he could look for something indoors.

The hand sneezed again, twice, before he shoved the bandana into his back pocket, wiped his palms on his jeans, and headed toward the yard. Nick made a mental note not to shake hands with him today and followed him into the already blazing sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the endnote I promised. I want to clarify a few things, since we're dealing with a 42-year-old book with 2 adaptations, and maybe y'all are wondering what this is actually fanfiction OF! Easy question: all 3. Sort of.
> 
> MOSTLY this is based on the book and the 94 mini-series, but I've incorporated a few elements from the 2020 adaptation that I actually liked. A very few, because there weren't many I'm not gonna lie. Let's see...
> 
> \- Some of the casting choices: Larry, Stu, the change from Ralph to Rae Brentner, and like...half Alexander Skarsgard. My Flagg is like a Jamey Sheridan/Alexander Skarsgard combo pack. You'll see later on. Also Nick. I'm imagining Nick as like if Dev Patel and Henry Zaga (as he looks playing Nick) had a love child. I know Dev Patel is a hearing actor, and I wouldn't want to see him playing Nick any more than Rob Lowe or Henry Zaga, but inside my own head, that's the look we're going for. If you'd rather imagine him looking like Henry Zaga alone, without Dev Patel genes, that's fine. If you wanna go Rob Lowe, that's cool too. I don't mind; it's your head!
> 
> \- One or two of the plot choices. That'll be more apparent in the latter half of the story, so don't really worry about it right now.
> 
> Basically we're following Nick's story line as it unfolds in the book/94 miniseries, and eventually we'll make it to Boulder and etc with everyone else. But for now I'm leaving them out because I'm not rewriting the entire book. As I said.
> 
> I had like this whole long endnote planned out and now I can't remember any of it. Lordt. Oh well, if it's important I'll remember. On to chapter 2...


	2. Shoyo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick gets his ass kicked, and Kai makes it to Shoyo.

**there's too much confusion  
i can't get no relief  
**Bob Dylan, "Along Along the Watchtower"

 **June 20 - somewhere in AR**  
She'd been on the road several days, heading north and ever-so-slightly west, but mostly just wandering. That day, as the sun crossed the highest part of the sky, she crossed the border into Arkansas. Bill and Hillary country, once upon a time. How times have changed, she thought as she passed a trailer park flying an enormous Confederate battle flag out front.

She'd been sticking to back roads mostly, avoiding highways and cops and traffic cameras. She had no idea how badly they (whoever they were) might want to find her, or how hard they'd be looking for her, and she hadn't heard the warning voice again. She'd had the dream every night since the first, though, with the corn and the guitar and the searching for a man named Nick she knew-but-didn't-know.

At one point yesterday morning she thought she'd lost her goddamn mind, completely overreacted and left a sick man alone to possibly die. She'd stopped at a cruddy little store and bought a burner flip phone, and when she dialed Remy's cell a voice she didn't recognize picked up on the second ring.

"Remy Broussard's phone. Who's calling?" The voice was clipped, professional, and had no real accent to speak of. Definitely not a local.

"May I speak to Remy please?" she said.

There was a brief pause. "Mr. Broussard just stepped away. May I ask who's calling?"

"May I ask who's answering?"

Another pause, this one longer. Then, "Miss d'Arnaud, Mr. Broussard is very ill. You should get back here, quickly. You could be infected. It's imperative we examine you right away."

She made a low noise of amusement. "Do I sound infected? And it's _Ms."_ She snapped the phone shut, pulled the battery, and tossed each piece into a separate trash can.

She had no idea how long it actually took to trace someone's phone—far less time than in the movies, she was sure—and she cursed herself for having to get the last, stupid word. At least she knew she wasn't paranoid, or crazy. They were looking for her. They were probably looking for everyone Remy had come into contact with between point of infection and Abilene.

Which only covered…fuck. Half of East goddamn Texas. If whatever Remy had was bad enough to get black helicopter types involved, how the hell could they possibly hope to contain it at this point? He'd flown from New Orleans to Dallas, then road tripped from Dallas back to Abilene. That was hundreds of miles of territory.

Anyway, all of that had been yesterday. She'd spent the night in a shitty motel and gotten back on the road before dawn. She was tired and cranky from lack of sleep. She missed real food. She missed her bed. But the dreams kept pushing her on, north, north, west a bit, and dream-Edie wandered a cornfield searching for a man she'd never met.

A few hours into Arkansas she stopped again and bought another phone and a roadmap. She didn't call anyone this time. She just wanted it for…comfort reasons. Habit. She wasn't sure. She wanted to call Sarah, but that was stupid. She was probably pissed as hell at Edie for running off without a word, leaving the restaurant in the lurch like she had. Well. What had she spent the last two years grooming Alma for, if not to take over for her one day?

Everywhere she went people seemed to be sniffling and sneezing. Probably her imagination. Confirmation bias, or whatever it was called. She couldn't get the memory of Remy's face out of her mind, the wheezing sound of his breath, that goddamn cough fit to rip him in two. So of course she saw sick people everywhere; it was all she could think about.

She tried to distract herself with the radio, but out in the middle of nowhere she just got Christian talk and country. At one point through the static she caught the bars of that new song everyone was calling the song of the summer. She had it stuck in her head the rest of the day, and she kept singing the chorus to herself: _Baby, can you dig your man?/He's a righteous man…_ She had no idea what the next line was, so it was a little infuriating.

Sometime after dark she stopped at another shitty motel and checked in using her fake ID. Places like this took cash, which was good. You just had to make sure you kept your door locked and your curtains closed. Once safely in her room, she took a long shower, brushed her teeth, braided off her long dark hair, and crawled between the sheets.

Despite the groaning, spitting noise the AC made and the traffic sounds outside, plus the arguing coming through the thin wall from one side, and the coughing fits from the other, she fell asleep fast, and soon she was dreaming.

The corn field again, but this time when she called for Nick only silence answered. Where was he? Had he stopped looking for her? Had something happened to him? She shoved her way through the sharp stalks and stumbled out into a clearing, the dooryard of a small house. An ancient apple tree bloomed nearby and a tire swing hung from it. Everything was old, worn, but tidy. She was reminded strongly of her Grandmère's cottage in a forgotten, swampy corner of Louisiana. Different climate, same vibe: love, comfort, and, above all, _home._

An old Black woman sat on the porch lightly strumming a well-worn guitar. She was tiny and white-haired and quite possibly the oldest person Edie had ever seen. When she saw Edie she smiled without teeth and beckoned her closer with one clawed hand. "There you are, li'l girl. Took you long enough to get here. Get lost in the corn?"

Edie's mouth fell open. She knew that voice. "It's you," she said. "You're the one—you told me to leave."

She wagged her head back and forth. "Mayhap I is, mayhap I ain't. The Lord works in mysterious ways. It ain't just an old sayin'."

She stopped at the foot of the porch and looked up into the dark, lined face. "Who are you?"

The woman let out a rough chuckle. "My name's Abagail Freemantle. Folks 'round these parts call me Mother Abagail. I'm one-hundred-eight years old, and I still make my own bread."

Her eyes brightened. Now they were speaking the same language. "Sourdough? Do you use your own starter? Have you been using the same one your whole life? What kind of flour do you use? I bet it's good bread-weather around here. Sometimes it's so humid in Louisiana I think it'll never rise. I had to have these special dehumidifiers installed in the bakery. Sarah was so mad, but some people just don't get it."

She paused. Flushed. "I'm sorry. I just really love—bread."

Mother Abagail laughed again, this time so hard she shook all over. "Never apologize for what you love, chile. Now listen: you go find your man, up Shoyo way, then you come to see me. I'm in Hemingford Home, Nebraska. I'll tell you anything you wanna know about my bread. My cornbread too!"

"My…man? Do you mean Remy? You told me to leave him, remember?"

She waved that away. "You know exactly who I mean, Ms. Eden. Nick Andros. He's waitin' on you."

"Where is he?" she said. She glanced around the empty yard. A chill breeze brushed her and a cloud passed over the sun. She crossed her arms around her middle. "Usually he's here. We're looking for each other. That's how—the dream goes. Usually."

"Hmmm." She sighed and pushed herself to her feet and leaned heavily on a cane. "Head on to Shoyo now, hear? This time he needs you to find him."

* * *

Nick wasn't sleeping. He'd just had the shit kicked out of him on the road outside Shoyo, Arkansas, and while he certainly wasn't awake, he wasn't asleep, either. He was, in fact, knocked senseless, passed out and sprawled inelegantly across a bunk in the Shoyo town jail.

Apparently being knocked senseless didn't interfere with dreaming, because when Nick opened his eyes he quickly had to screw them shut against the blinding sun. The corn field again. He didn't hear Kai, but the music was closer than ever.

He rose, wincing from some phantom pain (dream-Nick had no memory of the beating), and worked his way through the corn. He parted the last row and emerged into a dusty dooryard in front of a small, faded house with a deep front porch. He paused to study the old apple tree with its cloud of blossoms and tire swing. This place felt…good. Warm and safe and kind. It felt like home.

An old woman sat on the porch, and when she saw him she set the stringed instrument (a guitar?) aside and gestured him to her.

"Why if it ain't Nick Andros. I been waitin' on you. Come on, come in, I ain't gonna bite."

Nick took several hesitant steps closer. She was so tiny, so frail-looking. The oldest person he had ever seen in his life, and he was afraid even the gentle summer breeze might blow her away like a bit of dandelion fluff. But, maybe she had some answers for him. "Where am I?" he said. "Why can I hear? And talk?"

She lifted her hands in a shrug. "You always had a voice, Nick. But I don't know sign, so maybe this is the Lord's way of makin' sure we can understand each other."

He chewed that over. "And so I could hear her," he finally said. He looked around like Kai might be hiding in the corn. "Is she here? Why isn't she calling me?"

The woman chuckled, low and rusty. "She asked the same thing. No, she ain't here. You just missed her. I told her exactly what I'm gonna tell you, Nick. My name's Abagail Freemantle, but folks call me Mother Abagail. You ain't in no shape to go gallivantin', so you stay put right where you are. Ms. Eden's headin' your way, sure as Sunday."

"Eden?" His face twisted in a frown and he scrubbed a hand through his dark curls. "Who the h—uh. Who's that? That's not…her name. Not the one I know."

Her head tilted as she studied him.

"I call her Kai," he said, lamely. He shifted his weight and scuffed a little at the dirt. Suddenly he felt silly. Why was he talking to this woman like she was real? Like there was a real person attached to the name he called out in his dreams?

 _"Kai,"_ she said as though it answered a question. She gave a satisfied nod. "That ain't her name so much as who she _is."_

His full mouth quirked. "A force of nature," he said.

She made a gesture of agreement, then tapped a fingertip against the arm of her rocker to make sure he was listening. "Now, Nick, you wait for her, and then once you're healed up a bit, you two come visit me. Hemingford Home, Nebraska."

"Why would I need to heal up? I'm fine."

A long, sad sigh. "You wake on up now, Nick. Remember what I said: Mother Abagail in Hemingford Home. I'll be waitin' right here."

* * *

After the Mother Abagail dream faded Edie had slipped into deep, dreamless sleep, but she was thrown out of it with a cry as she tumbled off the bed and onto the cheap carpet. For a few moments she couldn't move. Her breath came in rough gasps and pain radiated through every inch of her.

God what now?!

Slowly she sat up and climbed back onto the bed. Nick. Something had happened to Nick. Was that why he hadn't been in her dream? She pressed a hand to her aching back. The old woman—Mother Abagail—had told her to find him in Shoyo, so surely he wasn't dead. Just hurt. And badly, if her own condition was any indication.

She rose on sore, unsteady legs and dug around for the map. Flipping on the bedside lamp, she spread the map across the extra bed and figured out where she was now. She moved her fingertip north and west up 63 until she came to a tiny dot labeled Shoyo.

"Okay," she breathed. "Okay, so it's a real place. What about—?" Another few moments' searching, this time in Nebraska, and she found Hemingford Home.

"Mother Abagail," she said. "Hemingford Home, Nebraska." She sighed and sank down onto the mattress. She rested her face in her hands. Scraped tendrils of hair off her forehead and tugged on her braid before letting out a long breath.

Shoyo was maybe five or six hours' drive. She'd started this trip at the direction of a disembodied voice—Mother Abagail's, apparently—so she might as well follow her dreams halfway across Arkansas. She was pointed that direction anyway.

And she had to make sure Nick was okay. It was utter madness, but Mother Abagail had said he needed her to find him. And she knew, somehow, that the pain wracking her body was his pain, something he was experiencing. She hoped it wasn't the flu, but she didn't think it was. It had come too suddenly. Nick wasn't just hurting: someone had _hurt_ him, and nothing pissed her off more than someone hurting people she cared about.

The fact that she cared about a disembodied voice from a handful of dreams maybe said more about her own nature than she cared to admit. She folded the map and tucked it back into her bag. It was only a little after midnight; she should try to get some more sleep. Four hours, at least.

She set the alarm on her phone and pulled the sheet up to her chin. Just a few days ago an extra thirty minutes of sleep would have seemed like a blessing: she got up at three-thirty every morning to be at the bakery by four. Start with that morning's muffins, cinnamon rolls, and Danish if she were so inclined. Next, bread, rolls, and whatever cakes she'd planned for the day. The restaurant served breakfast and lunch most days, except Friday and Saturday when they were open through dinner too. She worked two extra hours those days, making desserts for the dinner rush and pastries for Sunday brunch, and then as a reward got Sunday _and_ Monday off.

Instead of counting sheep she went through the steps of some recipes she'd been working on recently, and as the familiar, repetitious work spun through her mind, she was finally able to drift off.

 **June 21 - Shoyo, AR**  
Nick's head and back were a storm of pain, but the pills helped a little. He needed to keep his head about him, so he just took one, rather than the allowed two, but it was better than nothing.

By noon they had three of the guys who'd jumped him in jail, but none of them would give up their ringleader, Ray Booth. The Sheriff, who was looking sicker by the hour, shrugged and sneezed into his handkerchief.

"He's a local boy; he'll turn up. In the meantime, you should stick around here. I'd hate for him to catch you out again. He'll know I'm lookin' for him, and he'll know why."

Nick frowned, but he saw sense in the advice—and, besides, the woman in the dream had told him to stay and heal. To wait for Kai. It was crazy to listen to old ladies in dreams, but he wasn't in any shape to move on just yet, so he might as well stick around.

 _None of it's real anyway_ , he thought with a grimace. _It's just my brain playing tricks. Might as well stay here while I can, maybe figure out a way to make some money before I move on._

The Sheriff's wife brought them lunch, and Doc Soames stopped in for a chat. He gave Nick a quick exam, shone a light in his eyes and listened to his heart, before giving a satisfied nod.

"You're a very lucky young man, Mr. Andros," he said. "It'll take some time for all these bruises to heal up, but I don't think there's any permanent damage. No concussion. I think we got that nose set in time it won't show a break." He paused. "Though I doubt this is your first broken nose, is it?"

"I grew up in a group home," he wrote. "I'm also a deaf-mute. Take a guess." He drew a little smiley face to show he meant it in a more light-hearted way than it might sound.

The doctor read the note and gave Nick a long look over his glasses. "Like I said, a very lucky young man."

The Sheriff sneezed again and Soames scowled. "You sound like shit, John. You need to go home and get some rest."

"How'm I supposed to do that? Got them boys back in the can, and you know I ain't got a deputy. Can't leave the place unattended."

"It's not unattended. You've got Mr. Andros here. Deputize him and let him look after them."

Nick wasn't sure he'd understood correctly. Deputize him? He pointed at himself and lifted his brows in a question.

"That's what I said," Doc Soames said. "You got two legs and a good head on your shoulders. Those boys aren't going anywhere."

Before either Nick or Sheriff Baker could reply, the front door opened and a woman stepped inside. She tugged a pair of sunglasses off her nose and paused to absorb the sight of the three men gathered around the desk.

Nick felt something weird happen in his chest the moment he saw her, a _click_ of recognition. She was tall and leggy, with dark hair a few shades lighter than his and warm golden skin. She wore faded cutoffs and an equally faded LSU T-shirt. Wide nose, full mouth, strong jaw, amazing eyes.

Her eyes, he saw with the sunglasses off, were the most extraordinary shade of blue. Or maybe gray. They were such a contrast to the rest of her coloring that he noticed them even from across the room, like the girl in that old National Geographic magazine cover.

She perched the sunglasses on top of her head and then didn't seem to know what to do with her hands. "Hi," she finally said to the room in general.

"Hi there, ma'am," the Sheriff said. "Somethin' I can do for you? I'm John Baker, Sheriff in these parts."

"Oh, good. I'm hoping you can help me." She paused. Her eyes darted to Nick and a tiny line formed between her brows. "I…" She trailed off like she wasn't sure where to begin and the line deepened to a crease.

Nick dashed off a note and passed it to the Sheriff. He lifted a brow and cast the girl a long look. "My friend Nick here wants to know if you're…Kay? By any chance."

She let out a little breath. "Kai," she said. "Like… _eye_ , with a _k_ in front. Yeah, that's me. I—" She broke off and shoved a hand through her long hair. Caught the sunglasses when they nearly tumbled to the floor. When she spoke again she addressed Nick. "I guess you were expecting me, huh?"

He gave a shrug and a sheepish smile.

"What happened to your face?" she said in a rush, then seemed to realize how that sounded and blushed and backtracked a bit. "I mean—that is—our friend Abagail?"

He nodded for her to go on.

"She told me you'd been hurt. That's why I came. But she didn't tell me what happened."

The Sheriff and Doctor were following this exchange with interest, but when the Sheriff coughed, her face went pale and her eyes zeroed in on him.

"Not feeling well?" she said.

"Just a—well, maybe a touch o' the flu. Listen, why don't you kids step in to my office to chat? Me 'n' the Doc got a few things to work out, then I might take him up on his idea. If that's okay with you, Nick. Might be you got plans now."

Nick shot a quick look at Kai, then scribbled a note for the Sheriff. "No, that's fine. I can stay. I want to stay until you get Ray anyway. I'll help you out any way I can."

Baker read it over and nodded. "That's fine, then. Ma'am, my office is just down that away."

"Thank you, Sheriff," she said. "Also, while I have you, I was wondering if you know of a place to stay in town? A hotel or a motel."

He chuckled. "Only motel's out on Route Five and it ain't no place for a lady." Once again he looked closely at Nick, then back at her. "I guess I ain't caught your name yet, though. Besides Kai."

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry. Kai's actually my middle name. Most people call me Edie. Edie d'Arnaud."

"Well, Miss Edie, nice to meetcha. Like I said, I'm Sheriff Baker, and this here's Doc Soames. He's the one scraped your friend up off the asphalt and brought him in here. Patched him up, too. Apparently a group of local boys jumped him on the road outside town. Happened just last night." He paused, and despite his fever and the kind of swimmy feeling in his head, his eyes were sharp when they met hers. "He ain't made no phone calls—not that he could, I guess—but your friend Abagail sure got word to you fast."

Nick fished his phone out of his pocket and waved it at the Sheriff. "Texts," he wrote on his notepad. "Luckily phone was in pocket and not bag."

Baker grunted. "Yep, lucky."

"Thank you again, Sheriff," Edie said. "And you too, Doctor. I'm glad to know we still live in a world where strangers will help strangers."

"That's the kind of town this is, ma'am," Baker said. "Listen, I know my Janey would have my hide if I sent you out to that dump on Route Five. She's already mad enough at me since I'm huntin' her good-for-nothin' brother. Why don't you finish up here, and I'll take you to my house. We got a nice guest room you can crash in for a day or two, while Nick's helpin' me out around here."

She cast Nick a wide-eyed, startled glance. He tilted his head in a thoughtful gesture, then gave a little nod. He was telling her the Sheriff was someone she could trust, and that she should accept the offer. She knew that as though he'd spoken it aloud.

"I don't think I'll be getting a better offer than that. If it's really no imposition?"

"None at all." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward his office. "Y'all go on now. When you're ready we'll head out."

"Thank you," she said. "Truly." She glanced at Nick and lifted a brow. He tucked his hands in his pockets and led her down the hall, then closed the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obvs I skipped some scenes that are in the book/94 miniseries because I didn't think I needed to just like...completely rewrite what had already been written. At least not where it fits into my own narrative.
> 
> Comments? Matches for comments?


	3. Blank Page

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Kai are each stunned to discover the other is, in fact, real. Bios are swapped.

**lead me to the truth and i will follow you with my whole life**  
Mumford and Sons, "White Blank Page"

She spun toward him, her eyes huge, and raised shaking hands to cup her face.

He was real. He was tall and lanky with curly black hair and skin a few shades darker than hers and a bruised and battered face. The thing last night with the pain—that had been because of him. That must've been when the guys jumped him. No wonder he'd needed her to come to him.

"Holy shit!" she breathed, for lack of anything better. She was so overwhelmed that coherent sentences seemed beyond her.

His mouth, full and wide and surrounded by a short, scruffy beard, quirked in agreement.

"So you're real," she said.

He lifted his hands to indicated that he was, indeed, real.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. She remembered how carefully he'd watched faces during the conversation outside. The notes he'd written the Sheriff. When she spoke next, she signed along with it. "Do you sign?" she said.

He blinked at her. A feeling of such profound surprise washed through him that he had to lean back against the Sheriff's desk. "How did you know?" he signed, shock written in every gesture.

"My parents were deaf." She hesitated. There was a whole lot more to that explanation, but sharing wasn't in her nature. Then, "It was you in the dreams, wasn't it?"

He ruffled his hair with a long-fingered hand, tugging it back off his forehead and tumbling the curls in wild directions. "Yes. If you're going to ask how I called out to you, I have no idea. Or how I heard you calling me. Mother Abagail said"—he gave a soundless sigh—"that it was God's way of making sure we could understand each other."

Her brows rose. "I see."

He made a face. "Didn't say I believe that! That's just what she told me when I asked."

She chewed her lower lip and paced away a moment. Turned back. "I met her in my dream last night. The first time you weren't there. She said you'd be here, in Shoyo, and that you needed me to find you. Also—later—I woke up…this sounds so crazy. I woke up in pain, major, serious pain, and somehow I knew it was you."

"I guess it would sound crazy if I hadn't dreamt of her too. She told me to wait for you." He indicated his battered face. "I guess it probably was me. You should see what I look like under my shirt."

She blushed and her eyes darted away. Was he—was he flirting with her? No. Of course not. He literally just meant he was covered in bruises everywhere. God she needed to calm the fuck down. Her brain felt like a scrambled egg.

Whoops. She thought he was flirting with her…which maybe he was a tiny bit, but not really on purpose. More like when she fixed him with those clear, startling eyes it caused a lag between his brain and his hands. A skip in the relay. "I didn't mean it like that," he said. "Sorry."

A quick laugh and a shake of her head. "No, I know you didn't. I'm sorry. I just—what is the proper etiquette in this situation? Hi, I'm—Kai, I guess you call me—and I dreamt about you. Nice to meet you!"

She spelled it out—K-A-I—and he replied in kind, but it felt strange. He preferred the water sign like he'd used in his dream. "Hi, Kai. I'm Nick. I dreamt about you too. Glad to finally—find you, I guess. Mother Abagail called you _Eden_."

"That's my first name. Like I told the Sheriff, Kai's my middle name, but—it's what my mother always called me. It's Hawaiian. So was she."

 _Was_ , he thought. So she'd lost her mother too. He got the sense she wasn't really the sharing type, but he wasn't either, so that seemed all right. He frowned and glanced over his shoulder, back toward the door. "The Sheriff's pretty sick. The Doc said he should go home, and since he doesn't have a deputy right now, I guess…I guess I'll be in charge for a little while. Which is weird. But he's in a bind, and I owe him."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Sick." She tugged at a loose string on her cutoffs. "Seems to be a lot of that lately."

He let out a long breath. "Have you seen the news? We were watching it earlier. There's some kind of flu, I guess. A lot of rumors, but…seems like nearly everyone's sneezing and sniffling these days."

"It's not a rumor." She stepped closer and stopped speaking aloud as she signed; she didn't want to risk being overheard. "My boyfriend came home from a road trip a few days ago sick as a dog. I've never seen anyone that sick in my life." She recounted the events of that morning as quickly as she could, and then told him about the man on the phone day before yesterday.

"Holy shit. Military?"

"I don't know. Someone official. Whatever's going on, it's bad. And clearly these dreams have something to do with it somehow."

He gave a slow nod. Her eyes jumped from him to the door behind him, and he turned to see Doc Soames poking his head in the room.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, "but John needs to be getting home. If you aren't ready to go, ma'am, I can point you the right way once you are."

She cast Nick a look before she smiled at the doctor. "No, it's fine. I'll follow him home, and maybe come back after I get settled in." She brushed past Nick and squeezed his arm as she went. "I'll be back," she signed one-handed. Her gaze flicked down to her hand on his arm and when she looked up at him again her expression was…not troubled, exactly, but certainly confused.

He gave her as reassuring a smile as he could. "I'll be here," he said.

She left, shutting the door behind her, and he took a moment to rub the spot she'd touched. She'd felt it too, then. When her fingers brushed his bare forearm there had been something like a static shock, but…softer. Warmer. Not quite a tingle, but close.

He wondered if they touched in the dark, would it glow. He decided that line of thought wasn't productive and shut it off as soon as it emerged.

So she was real. A real person named Kai who'd dreamt of him, too, and also the old woman in Nebraska. She'd clearly been just as shocked to see him as he'd been to see her. He wondered if she'd felt that same…thing. Recognition, but like recognizing the source of a sweet, elusive scent that had been haunting you, or the taste of a food you'd been craving without even knowing it.

He was glad their first meeting had been so short, because he needed time. Time to think about the dreams and the old woman and Kai herself. What she'd told him would have made him worry for her sanity only a few days ago, but now he believed her without question. Though…maybe…he would've believed her anyway.

The office door opened and Sheriff Baker's bulk filled the doorway. He frowned at Nick. "You in here stewin'?"

Nick frowned back and scribbled out a note: "I thought you were going home. Dr's orders."

"I am, I am. I sent Am on his way and gave your girl directions to my place. Somethin' I needed to talk to you about."

"She's not my girl. Deputizing me?"

He read this and cocked a brow at Nick. "Whatever you say, babalugah. Yeah, that, and…her, while we're here." He lumbered past Nick and lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. Pulled the computer's keyboard closer and typed something. "While you two were in here catchin' up, I ran her name real quick."

Nick's heart sped up and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Whatever he'd found, it probably wasn't good. He started writing even as the Sheriff typed, and he finally glanced up from the paper to find stern dark eyes fixed on him. Baker pointed at the computer screen, and Nick read it, blinked, and read it again.

He ripped off the note he'd written, balled it up, and stuffed it in his pocket. In its place he wrote, "I don't think that's true, Sheriff. I know you don't have any reason to believe me, or her, but she said when she left her boyfriend was sick." He passed that one over and his mind raced to think of something else. "He was abusive. Hit her a lot. When he got sick she saw a chance to run and took it. But she didn't kill him. She wouldn't. And if she had, she would've told me."  
Baker studied both these notes with all the care of a priest reading the gospel. He let out a long sigh and rubbed a big hand over his face. "You known her a long time?"

Nick hesitated. He didn't want to lie. Sheriff Baker was a good man who'd treated him, a random vagabond drifter, like he might an actual townie. He didn't have to go after his own brother-in-law like he had. He could've thrown Nick in jail and left him there to rot, but he hadn't. Nick owed him the truth, if nothing else.

"No," he wrote. "Not very. But I know her." He underlined know three times in bold, dark strokes. "She didn't kill her boyfriend. I'd bet my life on it."

Baker read this last note and folded it crisply in half. Tucked it into his shirt pocket. "If I thought she had I wouldn'ta sent her home to my Janey, you can bet your skinny ass on that. I wanted your take on the situation. I been a law man a long time, and I know murders, and I know people on the run—that girl looked a bit like the latter, but not at all like the former. And this number." He tapped the computer screen. "That ain't no phone number I recognize. Ain't for the state police, though I guess it wouldn't be since this happened in Louisiana. Ain't no FBI number I know either. This whole bulletin don't smell right. Girl's runnin' all right, but it ain't from no murder charge."

Nick's brow furrowed as he read the bulletin again. He didn't know enough about it to say either way, but he trusted the Sheriff's word. That number must be some military thing, the same people who'd answered Remy's phone when she'd called it yesterday.

"You say this boyfriend beat her?"

That…maybe wasn't a lie, but she hadn't given him any indication of abuse, and in fact had seemed upset at having abandoned him on his probable deathbed. But what other explanation could he give for her doing it? _Well no not exactly you see the voice of a really old Black lady told her to go…_.

Obviously not an option.

Instead he gave a slow nod and kept his eyes steady on the Sheriff's. He mimed being punched, then tapped his broken nose and swollen eye. "He's probably looking for her," he wrote. "Maybe he has buddies somewhere in law enforcement. She didn't tell me much about him, so I don't know."

"That thin blue line bullshit," Baker said with a scowl. "A wife-beater's a wife-beater, don't care what he does for a livin'. I support other cops, sure, but not at the expense of innocent people. Fucker." He heaved a deep sigh that turned into a chest-rattling cough and waved off Nick's concern.

"It's fine, I'm fine. Let's get you deputized so I can head home 'fore Am Soames has my head." He hit a few buttons on the keyboard and the screen went black. "I'm gonna forget I ran her name, but if anything changes, you let me know. I'm trustin' her because I trust my gut, but also because I trust you. Don't let me down, Nick."

Nick felt a swell of pride in his chest, warm and bright and unfamiliar. He managed a smile and wrote, in his neatest handwriting, "I won't, Sheriff, and neither will she. You have my word."

He gave a satisfied nod and pocketed that note, too. "All right, then. That's good enough for me."

* * *

Jane, the Sheriff's wife, was all Midwest kindness and hospitality. She helped the doctor get her husband tucked into bed, then showed Edie her room and the bathroom, and put out some clean towels. She offered to make her a sandwich or some soup, then insisted when Edie's own Southern politeness made her decline.

"Doc Soames said John didn't eat a speck of the lunch I took down to the station. I've gotta get some food into that man come hell or high water, so I'm makin' it anyway. Might as well make enough for two."

"That's very kind, ma'am, thank you." She hesitated. "If you'd rather sit with him, you can show me what's what and I could do it. I really don't mind. I feed people for a living."

"Do you now?" She studied Edie with a shrewd, assessing eye. "Not often John brings home strays, but seems to be a theme of late." She sighed. "That poor boy. What my idiot brother and his idiot goons did to him—!" She broke off with a frustrated shake of her head.

"Family," Edie said. "What can you do?"

"Knock some sense into him is what I'd like to do, but that ship sailed a long time ago." She glanced back toward the bedroom with a frown. "I hate puttin' a guest to work, but I don't think I should leave John alone, and the Doc has other patients. All right, follow me. I imagine you know your way around a kitchen."

Jane showed her where to find everything, and she put together a couple bowls of tomato soup and a grilled cheese for herself. When Jane brought the bowl back to the kitchen later, it was nearly as full as when it had left. Her face was drawn and pale, and as she turned away she sneezed.

"Well don't that just beat all," she said.

"Go lie down," Edie told her. "You should rest before you get just as sick as your husband. Do you mind if I use your kitchen some more? I thought I might make some bread, or maybe muffins."

"Bless you, ma'am," Jane said. "My mama used to make fresh bread every Sunday and it was the best part of our week. Myself, I never caught the hang of it. If you need anything, just head on down to the market and tell 'em it's for me. They'll put it on the tab."

The tab? What was this, Mayberry? "Your cabinets are well-stocked, but I'll do that if I need to. Thank you. Go! Rest! I'll bring you both some tea with honey once you're settled."

Jane patted her arm, a maternal gesture that surprised and touched Edie almost to tears, and shuffled down the hall. Edie watched her go with her arms wrapped tight around her middle. Remy was dead, of that she had no doubt, and now Sheriff Baker and his wife were sick.

Maybe she'd been wrong earlier, with what she'd told Nick. Maybe it wasn't the same thing at all, or maybe it wasn't always fatal, and Remy had just gotten a really big dose of it. Tiny, kind Jane and her big, gruff husband would surely recover. None of this could be as bad as it seemed.

* * *

That evening Nick was sitting at the main desk flipping through a romance novel he'd found in one of the drawers when the door opened. He sat up fast, his feet hitting the floor with a thud he could feel even if he couldn't hear it. He stashed the book in the drawer and shoved it closed with his hip as he stood.

Kai watched him from the doorway, her mouth tilted in amusement. He wore a burgundy button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal leanly muscled forearms. Worn black trousers, rolled up a bit at the ankles, and black suspenders. Part hipster, part farm boy. Something about it worked. She wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked, then killed that thought dead only half-formed.

Oblivious to her study, caught up in his own distracting notice of her incongruous eyes and endless legs, he rushed forward to take the large box she carried and set it on the desk. Whatever was in there smelled amazing, and he took a moment to savor it, and pull himself together, before he smiled at her.

"Hi again," he signed. A scintillating conversationalist he was turning into. He scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration.

She grinned. "Hey. Mrs. Baker is sick now, too, so she asked me to bring you and your buddies some supper. It's pot roast and mashed potatoes. She already had the roast going in the crockpot when I got there."

"How's Sheriff Baker?" he signed with one hand as he unloaded the box.

She sighed and shook her head. "Not great. His cough's worse, and he's running a fever." Her gaze drifted toward the hallway that led back to the cells. "Kinda like some of the boys you have here."

Nick shifted his weight and frowned down at the plates. "I checked on them earlier. Two of them are sneezing up a storm, but the other one seems fine. I don't know what to do. The doctor is busy, and these guys are my responsibility."

"Let's just get them fed for now. Come on, I'll help you."

They carried the plates back to the cells, and she paused at the sight of strawberry milkshake smeared all over the wall. Tilted her head toward it in a _what happened here?_ gesture.

He slid one of the plates into the nearest cell and nodded at the guy sprawled out on the bunk. His breathing sounded almost as bad as Sheriff Baker's. "He wasn't happy with his lunch, or the establishment's service."

"Hmm," she said. "Some people just gotta act out."

"Thank you, ma'am," one of them said as he took his plate. "This looks real good." He sniffled. "Ma'am, I'm not feelin' so good. No good a'tall. Do you think I could maybe see the doc? Get somethin' for this headache?"

Nick had turned his back and missed what the guy said, but she didn't have to consult with him to know his answer. "That's up to Sheriff Baker, and he's indisposed at the moment." She turned to walk away, but his voice stopped her.

"We're real sorry 'bout what we did! It was all Ray's idea. We didn't know he was a dummy."

She spun on her heel and charged toward the cell. "What did you call him?"

The sudden movement caught Nick's attention, and he turned toward her in alarm. She stood gripping the bars with one hand and Vince Hogan's shirt with the other. She'd hauled him so close Nick couldn't see her lips, but whatever she was saying, the color drained from Hogan's face and he nodded like his head was on a spring.

"Yes, ma'am! Yes'm! I'm sorry!"

She shoved him away, not hard, but enough to make him stumble a little. "Apologize to him, not to me."

He glanced at Nick, face contrite. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean no insult. And I'm sorry I listened to Ray; we shouldn'ta done what we did to you. Weren't right."

Nick gave her an astounded look, but she just blinked at him. Finally, knowing she would translate, he signed, "I'll try to get the Doc in here to check you out. Eat your dinner."

"Yes, ma'am. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

All Midwestern-aw-shucks good ol' boy now. Edie rolled her eyes and stomped away, and after a moment Nick followed her.

"What did he say? Something about me, or something about you?" he said.

She dragged a chair from the other desk and sat down. Crossed one leg over the other and grabbed a fork and a plate. She stabbed at her pot roast so hard he winced, and for a long time she just sat, fuming and chewing.

He ate more slowly, waiting her out. The food was good, tender meat and gravy with carrots and those little pearl onions, all poured over real mashed potatoes, not that instant kind from the box. Jane Baker was a fantastic cook and a really nice lady, and he hated that she was sick too. Like everyone else, except himself and Kai.

He studied her between bites and decided no, whatever Hogan had said to set her off, it hadn't been about her. She looked like the type of woman who could handle a stupid catcall, and frankly Nick didn't think he'd have the courage to make one. The other guys, sure, but not weak little Vince Hogan.

Nick set down his fork and pushed back from the desk a little. "Called me a dummy, huh?"

She scowled down at her food.

"It's not like it's the first time someone's said it. Gets boring after a while."

Her fork hit the plate with a clatter and she glared at him. "That doesn't make it okay," she signed one-handed. Her fury was obvious in every vehement gesture. "You have to call people out on their bullshit or they never learn. Besides, I fucking hate bullies."

He shrugged and poured a cup of iced tea from the pitcher she'd brought. "He's not much of a bully, really. More the bullied. But it was pretty funny watching him almost piss himself when you got up in his face like that. What did you say to him?"

She put her plate on the desk and wiped her mouth with a napkin. He tilted the pitcher toward her and she nodded, so he filled a cup for her and set it near her elbow. "I told him if he couldn't act right I'd tell Mrs. Baker what he'd been up to and let her deal with him."

"Seriously?"

She shrugged. "Their ringleader is his sister, right? He might be able to knock her around, but I doubt anyone else is. If that kid's afraid of the one, I imagine he's afraid of the other. Seems like I was right."

He huffed out a silent chuckle. "Seems so."

They sat in silence for a time, watching each other with guarded, wary eyes. He'd decided that hers were the color of the bright blue Gulf of Mexico during a storm, darkened and tossed by wind and rain.

"You said your mom was Hawaiian?" he said, apropos of nothing but his own inner musings. He asked it tentatively, the signs a little unsure and his brows lifted not just in a question, but also as if seeking permission to even ask.

She nodded. Fiddled with her cup before setting it on the table. "Native," she signed. "We call ourselves kama'aina, _people of the land_." She spelled it out first, then used a sign he'd never seen, before explaining the meaning.

"My dad was part Creole, but only part, so I guess a light-eyed gene was in there somewhere. That's what everyone wants to know: how a light brown girl ended up with gray-blue eyes. What about you? What's your story, Nick Andros?"

He shrugged and signed it almost tiredly, like he didn't mind telling her, but he wasn't sure why she'd want to know. "My dad was Argentinian and my mom was Indian. India Indian, not Native American, but she was, you know. British. My parents came over from England when she was pregnant with me. They'd been here a month when they got into a car accident. My dad had a heart attack, died. I was born three months later. My mom never really said…" Another shrug. "I don't really know my family history."

She wasn't going to ask, because she didn't want him asking her, but her curiosity overcame her reluctance to share. "You talk about her in the past tense."

He smoothed his hands down his thighs before meeting her eyes again. "She died when I was eight. Hit by a motorcycle. His brakes failed. Stupid, freak accident." This last was jerky and heated.

She flinched in sympathy. "Jesus that's awful. Who took you in, after?"

"Group home. She was my only family in the US."

He signed it defiantly, chin raised and eyes hard. He was daring her to pity him.

She didn't accept. Sympathy, yes. Pity, no. There was a difference, and an important one.

He relaxed a little then, and his face softened. "I was a pissed off kid. My mom had taught me a little bit of sign and how to write my name, but that was it. I couldn't communicate with anyone there, so I acted like a little shit."

"You were a kid," she said.

"A little shit of a kid. Anyway, one of the counselors there was a deaf-mute too. He…got me straight. Taught me to sign, and how to read and write. Gave me my name sign. The minute I turned eighteen I got the hell out. Been wandering around ever since, picking up odd jobs all over. I like to keep moving."

She nodded. That was a sentiment she could understand. "How old are you?" she said.

"Twenty-six."

"Twenty-seven," she said, tapping her chest. She hesitated. "Not sure I should ask, but what's your name sign?"

He scowled a little. "It started out as _Little Shit_ ," he signed, sheepishly. "But when I was sixteen, before he left to go work for the Peace Corps, he changed it."

He paused. He'd never told anyone his name sign before, but that was at least partly because he'd kept himself removed from the Deaf community for most of his adult life. Rudy had gotten him into it, helped him become part of it, but he'd been so furious when Rudy left he'd turned his back on the entire culture. It wasn't that he resented being deaf or wished he were hearing; he just tended to run when he got pissed.

"Your parents were deaf," he finally signed, not a question.

"Yes. Mine is _Water."_ She signed it just as he had in his dream, and his lips quirked in a sardonic smile.

"Yeah," he signed. "I knew that." He blew out a breath. Then, " _Blank Page_."

Her head tilted in a question, but he shook his head. "Long story. I'll…tell you sometime. If you're interested."

It was an unusual name sign, but obviously very personal to him. She decided to let it lie. It was her turn to spill some dirt. "My mom and dad met when she was young, like seventeen. He took off not long after she got pregnant, but honestly I think it was the best thing he could've done. She went back to school." She pointed at her shirt. "LSU. She met my stepdad there and they got married when I was two."

"So which parents…?"

"My mom and my stepdad. I kind of got the idea my biological dad…I don't know. That part of the reason he took off was because he didn't want to be stuck with a deaf kid. He was attracted to my mom because he saw her as vulnerable, and I guess she kinda was, all alone so far from home. Louisiana, from Hawai'i. But she was a lot tougher than he ever gave her credit for."

He gave a slow nod and ate a few more bites of pot roast. She referred to her parents in the past tense, too, like he'd noticed earlier. He felt like she wanted to tell him without him asking her, so he listened and waited.

"Anyway, I was fourteen when they died. Katrina. I was sent to live with my father, who was an abusive alcoholic asshole. He died two weeks before my eighteenth birthday, and like you, when that day dawned I got the fuck out."

"Wow, three parents dead. Guess you beat me by one." He grinned to soften it, and she couldn't help but smile back. He had crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled like that, even through the bruises and the swelling, and dimples on one side. She liked the slow laziness of that smile, like warm molasses poured onto hot johnnycake.

"Guess so," she said, once her brain kicked back into gear. "I wandered for a while, like you. Finally ended up in New York. Culinary school." She gave a little laugh. "But I hated the structure of it, all the goddamn rules about cooking. It was stupid. So I dropped out. Got married. Moved back to Louisiana and we opened a restaurant."

He blinked. Married? What about her boyfriend? Did she have both? Why wasn't she worried about running out on her husband, then?

"We've been separated about six months," she said in answer to his silent question. "The last time we talked we fought about signing the goddamn divorce papers." She paused. Chewed her lower lip as she remembered that last, stupid fight with Sarah, the night before everything in her life changed.

He watched her expression change, the darkening of her eyes and slight slump of her shoulders. She played with her hair when she felt unsure of herself, and the light picked out shades of red and gold among the dark brown. What did it look like in the sun, he wondered.

He shifted in his chair and focused on the conversation. "What happened?" he said. "Did he cheat?"

Her full mouth quirked. "I cheated on her, actually. But not until…not until things were basically over anyway. She…" She trailed off with a sigh and looked away. This was getting much deeper than she wanted to go, but what the hell.

"We'd been married five years or so, talking about kids for a while. We both wanted them, so that wasn't the problem. It had come down to how. Adoption, in vitro, surrogate. And if we went with either of the latter two, whose egg would we use?"

He sat back a little. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"Yeah," she said at his expression. "I don't think she meant…honestly, I don't think she meant it as bad as it sounded. But she said—" She broke off with a rough laugh. "If she'd stopped at _your dad was an alcoholic_ I would've been fine, and agreed with her, but then she said, _and your mom was deaf_ , and that was…"

He gave a slow nod. She didn't have to explain, not really. "She didn't want to be stuck with a deaf kid," he said.

"More or less." She threw her hair behind her shoulder and lifted her hands in a brief, rueful shrug. "I slept with Remy—our chef—for the first time a few months later. She and I had been fighting almost nonstop since that conversation, but she kept trying to…talk me back. Apologize and say she didn't mean it and all of that. But it was one of those things you say, you know? Like, she's not a bigoted person, and if we'd had a deaf kid I know she would've loved them just as much as a hearing one, but…I couldn't forget it. Apparently couldn't forgive, either. So I slept with Remy because I knew it would piss her off enough to finally give up and just let me go."

She waved a hand. "Remy isn't exactly my boyfriend. We weren't that formal or anything. But he crashed at my place sometimes and we were fucking, so…whatever. It's shorthand, I guess."

"Must've been awkward," he said after a moment, "owning a business with your ex."

Their eyes met, and her mouth moved in a small, grateful smile. Just as she hadn't offered him pity, he didn't offer judgment. It seemed they understood each other well.

"Yeah, sort of," she said. "But Sarah ran the business side of things and I mostly hid out in the bakery, so it was easy to avoid each other. The awkward part was when I started banging the cook."

He snorted a laugh. "Oops."

Her brow quirked at the wry glint in his dark eyes. "I didn't know that many eligible people. It's a small town, and like I said—I hide out in the bakery. Up at three AM, work till one or three, then in bed by seven or eight. It doesn't exactly lend itself to a thriving social life."

"Shit. I worked as a line cook at a diner one time. Some of the hardest work I've ever done in my life, and I've spent a lot of time on farms. You mean you baked for ten or twelve hours a day?"

"Five days a week," she said. She flexed her arms to show off the muscles there. "Look at that! Kneading bread and lifting heavy trays. Got some abs, too, but they don't really show."

He ignored the direction his brain wanted to go and instead offered a grin that she returned, though hers faded as she glanced toward the cells and back at him. "And now I'm here, after running out on Remy probably on his deathbed thanks to a disembodied voice telling me to. I came here because a woman in a dream told me you're here, and I've been dreaming about you for days. And you've been dreaming about me. And you dreamed about Mother Abagail. So, basically—what the fuck is going on?!"

He picked up his fork. Set it down again. Scrubbed a hand through his dark curls and slumped back in the chair. "I don't believe in any of this. Precognitive dreams and—disembodied voices and whatever that old woman is supposed to be."

"You think I do?" She frowned. "I mean, okay, I'm from New Orleans, so I believe in some things. My Grandmère taught me the basics. Brick dust across your door and salt over your shoulder. Ghosts, of course. But this?! I heard her, Nick! The same voice. It was her voice that morning, and she was right, because if I'd stayed…"

She trailed off with a shudder.

"I know," he said. "I believe you. I stood in a cornfield and called your name and heard you call mine, and I never saw your face, but how many women with the same dream as me named _Eden Kai_ could there be in the world?"

Her mouth quirked. "Hopefully just me."

"Hopefully."

"D'Arnaud," she signed, spelling it out.

He blinked. "What?"

"That's my last name. In case you were wondering."

"Good to know," he said.

She stifled a yawn and rubbed a hand across her eyes. "Ugh. Not to be a cheap date, but I've been up since four and on the road for, like, four days. I'm beat, and sleeping somewhere without worrying about cockroaches sounds amazing."

He grimaced. Bakers kept even worse hours than farmers, and hay lofts rarely had roaches. "You should go. Check on the Sheriff and Mrs. Baker. Hang on, let me get you my number so you can text if you need to." He grabbed his notepad off the table and scribbled it for her. "You can call if you want," he said. "But I don't usually answer."

She cut him a look. "You know that phone has RTT software built in, right? Plus closed captioning and sound recognition. Like sirens or a doorbell."

He frowned down at it. "Seriously?"

"It's all in the accessibility features. You never used them?"

He shrugged. "I don't have anyone to call. I just use it for GPS and Google."

"What, no porn?"

"Only on Sundays. I like to blaspheme."

It surprised a laugh from her. "I'll make sure to give you some private time on Sunday."

"Thanks," he said. "I'll need it, after the week I'm having." He paused. "I should—let me walk you out. I can lock up behind you."

She nodded and he followed her to the door. "I'll text you with an update."

"Tell the Sheriff I've got this. He just needs to worry about feeling better."

"I'll tell him," she said with a brief, warm smile. "Be careful, and I'll see you tomorrow."

He stood in the doorway and watched until she backed out of the parking place and drove away, then he stepped back inside and locked the door behind him. A check on his prisoners and he resumed his position back at the desk. He made sure his phone was on vibrate (it was always on vibrate) before he fished the romance novel out of the drawer and leaned back in the chair to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Com...ints??
> 
> I'm seriously WAY too invested in this fic, y'all, and I need feedback. Thank you so much for the kudos!!


	4. What You Lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Kai reflect on the flu, the things they've lost and stand to lose, and make plans for a trip to Nebraska.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an informal poll: do you guys prefer shorter chapters, like 2-3k, or longer ones, like 4-6k? I ask because I'm struggling a little with where to divide the chapters, and I'm just curious.
> 
> ATTN: Obviously this fic deals with a humanity-destroying flu, so I hope all of you are proceeding with caution. THIS CHAPTER in particular features descriptions of news coverage that might be triggering or upsetting. Once Nick turns on the TV, please go carefully. If you need to skip that lil section altogether you won't miss anything plot relevant. Please take care of yourselves!
> 
> I love comments, and I love my readers. Have fun!

**some tragedies you know they have no explanation**  
 **and the word "everything" don't cover what you lose**  
The Avett Brothers, "I Should've Spent the Day With my Family"

 **June 22 - Shoyo, AR**  
It was hard to believe that just twelve hours ago they'd thought Sheriff Baker might be on the mend. Edie had been up at four AM to bake muffins (mixed berry, banana oat, and zucchini walnut) and a couple loaves of bread. She could hear him coughing, but at six he shuffled down the hall and into the kitchen, and he looked decidedly better than he had yesterday afternoon. Jane got up a few minutes later and they all sat down to a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and muffins warm from the oven.

He took a bunch of them down to the station, Jane directed Edie to the nearest library (county seat, next town over), and she spent the day researching random topics that she'd never thought she might need to know, but for some reason seemed important now. How to lay a fire. How to splint a broken bone. How to purify water to make it safe to drink.

By five her eyes were crossing and her head swimming, so she checked out a few books about identifying edible plants and fungi and headed back to Shoyo. Jane called and asked if she could pick some supper up for the boys at Ma's Truck Stop out on the highway. She was too sick to cook anything, and Nick and "those good-for-nothin's" needed to eat.

She heard coughing in the background, and Jane told her the Sheriff had once again come home early, and he seemed worse off than he'd been the night before. "How was the library?" she said.

"Quiet. But it's a weekday, so I guess that's normal."

What hadn't (and still didn't) seemed normal was how quiet everything else was. There was hardly any traffic. She saw maybe two people in the entire downtown area. Ma's Truck Stop, she found when she got there, had a parking lot full but a nearly empty dining room. There was one waitress on duty, and she spoke in a foghorn honk through her congestion.

"Gonna take a while. Jus' me 'n' Bobby here, and we got about a million to go orders. You takin' it down to the Sheriff station?"

"That's right. For the new deputy and the prisoners there."

She gave a brief nod. "You go on, then. I'll have m'boy bring it down when it's ready. Might be an hour or more, but it's comin'. I promise."

"Sure, that sounds great. Thanks."

On her way out she passed a burly man bent nearly double with the force of his cough. A woman stood filling her car at the gas pump and sneezed hard enough to nearly topple her.

Edie shivered and started her car. She got the AC going and opened a text to Nick.

_\- On my way to you now. Heard sjb had to leave early? Sick again?_

The typing dots appeared. Then, _\- Doc sent him home. Said he had a nasty respiratory infection. Hoping Doc'll come back bc these boys are sick, esp Childress_

_\- How're you?_

_\- Fine. Worried. Stop typing and drive. Could use the company._

She lifted a brow at her phone. _\- Aye aye, bossy. omw now_

"Fucker," she said, but she was half grinning as she said it, and it was almost a term of endearment.

* * *

The boy who brought the food from Ma's Truck Stop stared wide-eyed at Nick, and then even wider-eyed at Edie when she signed something to him.

"Thank you," Nick signed as he took the box.

"That means _thank you_ ," Edie said.

"Oh. Yeah, I know. My girlfriend read in some book that you should teach babies sign language before they can talk, so we've been learnin' it. I just never seen anybody talk like that in real life."

She signed what he said to Nick and he gave her a questioning look.

"I've read that too," she said. "About babies and ASL."

"Neat," he signed, and it was all she could do not to snort at the heavy irony on his face and in the gesture.

"Thanks for bringing this stuff," she told the delivery guy. "I know it's slammed up there, so you better get back." She handed him a twenty from her purse, and she thought he might have a stroke.

"Thank you, ma'am! Y'all need anything else, just give us a holler. Ask for Danny."

"We will, Danny. You have a good night." She waited until the door shut behind him before she burst out laughing. "God that kid almost shit his pants. And you! _Neat_." She rolled her eyes. "You're such an asshole."

He lifted his hands in a shrug. "It is kinda neat, I guess. But also it must be nice to teach your kid a little bit of sign as some sorta lark, and not because without it he's completely incommunicado."

"Hearing privilege," she said with a wry tilt to her head.

"Exactly." He set each takeout container on the desk before unpacking the plasticware and cans of Coke. "I guess it's not a bad thing if it means more people learn to sign," he said, grudgingly.

"I was taught to sign before I could speak orally," she said.

"Your mom was deaf. ASL was your first language. That's different. You know that's completely different."

He turned away before she could reply, off to deliver food to his noisy prisoners. When he got back his expression was thoughtful, and he sat down across from her and watched her with penetrating dark eyes. She watched him back, unflinching, and part of him admired her steady frankness.

"I envy you in a lot of ways," he finally said. "I was five before I understood that a tree was called a tree. I didn't start learning to speak fluently until I was eight, after my mom died." He pulled one of the styrofoam boxes closer but didn't open it. "She did the best she could, but she had to work constantly just to keep a roof over our head and food on the table."

"Didn't you go to school?" she said.

"We moved around a lot. She always…seemed to forget. About school. Then before she could get things straightened out we'd take off again."

His expression turned inward, and now he seemed almost to talk to himself. His gestures became slower, more distracted. "I used to wonder what she was running from. Not back then of course; I was just a kid. But as I got older, looking back. But now…" He trailed off with a frown.

"Now?" she prompted, gently, when he didn't go on.

He blew out a breath. "Now I think about _him_. You've seen him, right? In the corn?"

She shivered as though from a sudden draft. "I—no. I haven't seen him. Sensed him, though. I…know who you mean."

A grim nod. "Him. I think about him, and I think…that's it. She was running from him."

"Nick, that's—come on. That's impossible!"

He looked up to meet her eyes, and her mouth fell open. She could read his thoughts plainly on his face, and part of her couldn't believe what she was seeing—even as another part of her thought it all made perfect sense. "You think—it's been him. All along. My parents and your dad and later your mom."

He ran a hand back through his hair in a rough, thoughtless motion. "You said your parents died in Katrina. How?"

She gave a quick, jerky shake of her head. "It was—just—the water. They drowned. They didn't evacuate because everyone said the storm would turn, and then it didn't. We were in the car and there was too much water. We were stuck, trapped. A man came and got me out, and he was going to go back for them, but it was too late."

"A man."

"Not him! Jesus, Nick, not—that guy! Just a random good Samaritan."

He seemed to deflate a little, some of the furious determination leaving him as his chin dipped toward his chest and his shoulders sagged. "Yeah. I know. I know you're right, I just…want to make sense of it. Somehow."

She sighed and tugged at the end of her braid. "Maybe I'm not right," she said. "Mother Abagail seems to think we were chosen for something." She hitched a shoulder. "Maybe her God isn't the only one doing the choosing."

He frowned. "I'd rather be chosen by an invisible old man in the sky than…that guy."

"Me too." She paused to study him a moment. He looked exhausted. Bruised and battered and much too thin for his tall frame. "These are deep philosophical questions to be wrestling with on an empty stomach."

He gave a sardonic snort. "Is that your way of telling me to shut up and eat?"

"It's my way of telling you that there's very little in the world that can't be made better by country fried steak, mashed potatoes, and collards. Eat, and after, if you still have questions about your place in the great cosmic chess match, we'll figure it out."

He answered that with a brief half-smile and opened his box of food. "Is this the sort of thing you served at your restaurant?" he said with one hand as he ate. "Southern food?"

She shook her head. "Sometimes, as a special, but not really. We did breakfast and lunch every day but Monday, when we were closed, then we expanded to supper hours on Friday and Saturday. Breakfast all day was our biggest thing. Remy made the best goddamn pancakes you've ever had in your life. Then we had homemade soups, sandwiches, quiche. Dinner was exclusively French."

He paused with a bite halfway to his mouth and fixed her with a questioning look.

"Remy trained in Paris. He liked to show it off."

"Like the rat from that movie."

"Ha. Yeah, you can believe we teased him about that." She went quiet as the humor left her eyes. Picked at her food and took a restless sip of her drink.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"No, you didn't. It's fine. I just—wonder how things are back there. I just took off. Didn't leave a note. That's not like me." She set her can down and flicked the pull tab. "Not anymore."

He let that lie, because he knew what she meant. She'd been a runner, like him, but unlike him she'd found a place for herself and settled down. Now an old woman from Nebraska, prophetic dreams, and a killer flu virus had sent her running again, and she'd lost the feel for it.

It was another thing he envied about her.

The ate in silence for a while, each wrapped in their own thoughts, until finally she dropped her fork, shut the box, and pushed it away. "Not as good as Mrs. Baker's pot roast, but I wouldn't kick it outta bed for eating crackers."

He grinned. "One of the counselors at the group home where I grew up used to say that."

"My Grandmère. My father's mom. I spent a lot of time with her after I went to live with him."

He didn't recognize the sign, but she'd used it yesterday too. "Who?"

"Sorry. Grandmother. She spoke a lot of Cajun French, and more out of curiosity I taught myself a little LSF, French Sign Language."

"Curiosity?" he said, brow furrowed.

"Well, yeah. My mom and stepfather were—gone, and my father was hearing. So was my grandmother. But ASL was my first language along with HSL—Hawai'i Sign Language—then spoken English and spoken Hawaiian. So learning some LSF seemed sort of…natural."

He leaned closer, eyes wide. "Hawai'i Sign Language? I didn't know that was a thing."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, neither did white people until 2013. It's dying, now. ASL is taking over and fewer people are learning it. That's why my mom taught me. I planned to teach my kids, but…" She trailed off with a shrug.

He tugged at his dark curls a moment. "You could teach me. If you wanted."

"Really?" she said, expression brightening. "You'd want to learn?"

"Yeah," he said. "I couldn't really communicate until I was eight; I figure I should make up for lost time by learning as many languages as I can."

Her mouth curved. "That's a fantastic goal. Sure, I'll teach you. It'll be fun."

He grinned. _Fun_ maybe wasn't the word, but interesting for sure. "Is she who taught you to bake? Your…Grandmère?" he said, struggling to recreate the sign she used.

She showed him again, then said, "My mom first taught me, but Grandmère kept encouraging me. She taught me lots of other things: teas, simples, little remedies. She was a midwife and a kind of…witch woman, I guess, to the locals. That's how they thought of her anyway."

His brows rose, only half-mockingly. "Your grandmother was a witch? Does that make you a witch too?"

She threw a balled-up straw paper at him. "No! It goes through the mother's line, everyone knows that." She leaned forward. "She used to say the Lord burdened her with a good-for-nothing son because any daughter of hers would be too powerful and He was jealous."

"You know, that would've been funny before all this started. Now? Not quite as much."

Her mouth quirked in commiseration. "A little too much weird shit lately. Like today." She told him about how deserted everything was, and how it seemed like every single person she saw had some sort of cold. She tilted her head toward the cells. "Like those boys back there. Coughing," she said at his questioning look. "Sounds bad. Nick, what the fuck is going on?"

He blew out a long breath. "Have you watched the news at all the past few days?"

She shook her head. He frowned and motioned for her to join him in the Sheriff's office. "I was watching some earlier, but I had to turn it off because I got freaked out. It's…weird. I get the feeling they're not saying everything, either, and that just makes it worse."

He grabbed the remote off the Sheriff's desk and hit the power button. They stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the TV, and he felt her tense as images started to fill the screen.

Hospitals in major cities overflowing. Body bags starting to stack up outside morgues. A harried and exhausted-looking doctor who said the infection rate was something like 99%, and so far he hadn't seen anyone recover from it. His mic was cut as soon as he said that, and the screen went black for a few seconds before commercials started to play.

"Nick…"

He flipped the channel and a list of CDC guidelines was displayed on the screen: wash your hands, cover your cough, stay at home, wear a mask, stay six feet apart.

Nick felt her knuckles brush the back of his hand, and he flipped it over so that their palms met and fingers tangled.

On CNN they watched a reporter doing a standup outside a hospital get physically removed by men in uniforms carrying very large guns. Her cameraman was knocked to the ground and the camera fritzed out. The feed went back to Wolf Blitzer in the studio. He smothered a cough and called the reporter's name over and over, but she didn't answer. He stood, silent and clearly frightened, until they switched to commercial, too.

Kai squeezed Nick's hand, and he stroked his thumb across her knuckles.

MSNBC flashed between scenes from London, Tokyo, Paris, and Cairo. Russia and China had closed their borders and weren't saying much, but that was telling in and of itself. Australia and New Zealand were closed too, but they already had cases, which meant it was largely too late.

It seemed like it was too late pretty much everywhere.

"Holy shit," she breathed.

He turned the TV off and she tugged her hand free. Paced away, one arm wrapped around her middle and the fingers of her other hand tapping against her lips.

"It's a lot worse than it was yesterday," he said. "Even worse than this morning. Whatever the fuck this is, it moves fast, and it's pretty clear no one has any clue what's going on."

"Someone does," she said. "Someone absolutely does."

"What do you mean?"

She gestured toward the silent television. "That one guy said it has a ninety-nine percent infection rate and a one-hundred percent death rate. That means nearly everyone gets it, and everyone who gets it dies. So we're talking a ninety-nine percent overall death rate. Of the population. The Spanish Flu in 1918 only had a two percent death rate, and it decimated a generation. The Black Plague killed one-third of Europe's population and remade the Western world! Viruses that are this virulent and kill this thoroughly don't just happen, Nick. I mean, I'm just a baker, but I know enough about it to know that a virus's number one goal is to reproduce itself. How can it do that if it kills everyone it touches within forty-eight hours or so?!"

He absorbed that for a moment. "You're saying someone made this."

"That's what I'm saying, yeah. Because only human intervention creates a virus that does nothing but kill. Ebola has a ninety-nine percent death rate, but it spreads much more slowly and nowhere near as easily. This thing…it's pure scorched earth."

He gave her a long look, an ironic light in his dark eyes. "How does a baker know so much about viruses?" he said with a twist to his mouth.

She shot him a brief, toothless glare. "I watch a lot of documentaries, then I read a lot to fill in the blanks. No social life, remember? Also I spent the entire day at the library." She bit her lip, her eyes far away. "Remy went to Dallas to his food conference thing. He liked to fly out and then rent a car to drive back so he could stop along the way and eat. His own personal _Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives_ , he called it."

He blinked, his expression blank.

" _Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives_? Guy Fieri? Rollin' out to Flavortown?"

"Where the hell's Flavortown?" he said.

She grinned, a real one that lit up her eyes and showed a dimple in her chin. "It's a show on Food Network where this guy goes around the country eating at little local places. He calls a place like the _crown jewel of Flavortown_ , or, I don't know, the _number one sandwich in Flavortown_. It's one of his catchphrases, I guess."

His mouth fell open in a silent _ah_. "I don't watch a lot of TV, but I do like food."

"Yeah, well, so did Remy. Obviously. Pretty sure he wanted us on the show, but Sarah was dead set against it. Apparently places he visits become hugely popular immediately after, and she didn't want to deal with all the extra traffic. We were already a bit of a tourist destination as it was."

She waved it away. "Whatever. My point is he could've picked it up anywhere between Dallas and Abilene. That's a long ass stretch of road."

"If it was in bumfuck East Texas earlier this week…"

"Then who knows where the hell it started, or by whom."

He raked a hand through his hair. "So…what do we do with this information?"

"Nothing," she said. She gave a distracted shake of her head and tore her gaze from the blank TV screen to finally look at him. She hadn't missed the irony in his tone. "I just like to know how rigged the game is before I sit down at the table."

"That's fair," he said. "I just figure it's the only game in town and do the best I can with the hand I'm dealt."

Her mouth curved. "Or move on to the next one."

"Or that," he agreed. "Doesn't seem to be an option this time."

They stood facing each other, much less than six feet apart, and they'd both turned wary after the intimacy of the last hour.

"I guess—we're sort of meant to be in this together," she said. "If you believe in that sort of thing."

"I don't," he signed, emphatically. His face scrunched. "But we both had the dreams, and here we are."

"For now," she said.

He acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. "Hemingford Home, Nebraska. Mother Abagail." He signed it as _Mom A_ , and her lips quirked in the flash of a smile. He frowned; glanced away. "I can't leave yet, though."

"No," she said, quickly. "No. I walked out on Remy when he was dying. I can't do the same to the Sheriff and Mrs. Baker."

"It sounds like you didn't have much choice," he said. "If you'd stayed you'd probably be in some lab right now being poked and prodded while they tried to figure out why you're immune."

She chewed her lower lip. "I wasn't going to say the _I_ -word."

He shrugged. "That's what we are, aren't we? The guy said ninety-nine percent infection rate. That still leaves one percent, right?"

"God!" She scraped both hands back through her hair and spun a slow circle. "What's one percent of seven billion?!"

"Well…one percent of seven hundred is seven, so…extrapolate."

That earned him another sour look. He just shrugged again, unfazed.

"Are you always this much of a smart ass?"

"Yeah, pretty much. There's a lot more to me than just puppy dog eyes, you know."

It surprised her into a laugh. "Yeah," she said, "that's kind of the impression that I'm getting."

Their eyes met, and for a moment the brief space between them was charged. He watched her, his expression mild, and she watched him back. She seemed to be searching for something in his face, but whether she found it or not he couldn't have said. All he knew was that she looked away first, and he missed the warmth of her regard.

"Choice or not, I'm not doing the same thing with the Bakers. They've been too kind to both of us."

He tapped the badge on his chest and she nodded.

"And you've got your prison boys to look after."

"What do we do? Just wait for everyone to die?"

She flinched and crossed her arms again. "That sounds so cold."

"But?"

"But…" She lifted her chin and her jaw hardened. "But that's exactly what we're doing. We stay here so they don't have to die alone, and once they're gone, so are we."

"To Nebraska."

"Right." She hesitated. "Right?"

"Right," he said. He tugged at his hair. "You're right, Kai. It's pretty clear that's what we have to do."

Something soft and bright flared in her eyes. "How did you know my name sign? When I told you, you knew. My mother gave it to me. She used to call me _Little Water_."

"That's how I was signing it in the dream. When I called you." His brow creased. "I don't have to use it if you don't want me to."

She considered a moment. Like _Kai_ , no one had used that name sign for her in years. After her father died her parents' old friends in the Deaf community took her in, first in New Orleans and then in New York. They'd given her a new name sign, but for some reason she'd told him the old one—and that was the one he'd used in his dream. "No," she said at last, "it's okay. I like it."

"Good," he said. "I do too." When his hands moved again the signs were hesitant. "You can use mine. If you'd like."

"Thank you," she signed. "As long as it wasn't meant as an insult."

"It wasn't. I really will tell you sometime."

"Okay," she said. "No rush."

She fidgeted a moment, then turned away to head back to the other room. He frowned after her in surprise before he followed. She stood staring out the windows into the street, and something about the set of her shoulders made him hesitate to interrupt her. After several long moments she faced him again, and he felt awkward for staring.

"I guess…come find me. After. I'll be here," he said.

She let out a jagged sort of laugh, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "This really sucks ass, huh?"

His mouth quirked and he did that cute nervous-hand-through-his-hair thing again. "Not as much fun being a one percenter as I would've thought, that's for damn sure."

"No shit." She moved to the table to start packing their trash away. She left his box there, but stowed hers back in the delivery box. "You should finish your dinner," she said with a little frown. "It's too good to waste."

"I will," he said. He watched her as she worked: her movements were quick and tense. Jerky. He'd only known her a few hours, all told, but in that time he'd noticed the free and elegant way she moved. It was hard not to, the way they communicated.

He tapped a fingertip against the table to get her attention. When she didn't look his way he reached out to touch her forearm, gently, and she froze. Closed her eyes a moment before her gaze dropped to his hand, then back up to his face.

He let go and took a deliberate step back. "I'm sorry. I didn't meant to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to tell you…I know this is all weird and crazy and scary as hell, but whatever happens, you're safe with me."

Her head tilted. "Safe _with_ you, or safe _from_ you?"

He frowned. "I meant the second one, I guess, but…both, I hope."

"I know that. If I thought any different I wouldn't be here right now."

"Okay, so…I know you're scared. I'm scared, too. But as your designated apocalypse buddy, it's my job to look after you, just like it's your job to look after me. And, look, together we've got two working ears, four working eyes, and at least one recipe for blueberry muffins."

"More like forty," she said.

"I said _at least_."

"So you did," she said with a little smile. "What's your point? Teamwork makes the dream work?"

"Something like that," he said, his mouth moving in that lazy grin.

She shook her head, but he could tell she was struggling not to laugh. "It's the end of the world, Nick. I can't handle that and corporate retreat clichés."

"There's no _I_ in _team_ , Kai!"

"Oh my god. How can I switch apocalypse buddies?"

"Too late. Pretty sure you're stuck with me."

An amused huff that feigned frustration even as her brilliant eyes sparkled. But, slowly and as he watched, the brightness drained away and the shadows returned.

"I _am_ scared," she said.

"I know. I am too."

She swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay. Okay, somehow that makes me feel a little better."

"That was my goal." He ducked his head and flicked a wayward curl off his forehead. She watched, momentarily fascinated, and he looked up just in time to catch her at it.

"Um," she said. "I should get back."

"Yeah, of course. It's late for you." He took the box of trash from her and set it back on the table. "Sheriff's paying me to keep the place clean. Least I can do is earn my keep."

She gave a distracted nod and he walked with her to the door.

"I'll see you for breakfast if the Sheriff can't make it in," she said.

He nodded. "Bring more muffins. It's no wonder your restaurant was a tourist destination."

"Sarah and I used to joke that she knew she was going to marry me the first time she tasted my pumpkin chocolate chip muffins."

"I believe it," he said.

She didn't want to leave, walk out onto that empty, eerie street and drive to the Bakers' to sit a death watch. She wanted to stay here, with him, and learn more about his life at the group home or as a nomad wandering small town America. She wanted to know how he took his coffee and how he felt about cilantro and if he had any weird ideas about chem trails.

Instead she said goodnight and crossed quickly to her car. Gave him a wave as she started it and imagined she felt his steady, assessing eyes on her until the end of the block, where she turned and was out of his sight.


	5. Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sheriff Baker's death begins to bring the true reality of Captain Trips home. It's becoming more apparent that Nick and Kai are truly immune, and they need to plan accordingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the summary says, here there be death. Proceed with all appropriate caution.
> 
> Love your comments and kudos, faithful readers. Don't be shy. :)

**what has happened will never be undone  
but tomorrow i think i'll just try to keep the day wide open  
and as much as they will have me be with people that i love  
**The Avett Brothers, "I Should've Spent the Day With my Family"

 **June 23 - Shoyo, AR**  
Nick wasn't asleep when he felt the vibration from his phone. It was nearly nine AM, and he hadn't heard from Sheriff Baker, Doc Soames, or anyone with any breakfast for his prisoners. Kai had texted a few hours ago to say Jane Baker seemed to have had a rally, but the Sheriff was going downhill fast.

He didn't want to check his phone. He knew what it would say, and if he just left it in his pocket, pretended he hadn't felt it, then he could go on living in a world where Sheriff Baker was still alive. A man who had been kind to him in ways he'd assumed human beings just didn't do. A man who'd treated him with respect and dignity and trust, given him a job and, more, a purpose.

He maybe could've found his place here in Shoyo, with these people. A place like Kai had in Abilene, but with less relationship drama.

He wandered back to the cells. Mike Childress was sprawled across the bunk, and he didn't look good. Vince Hogan was wide-eyed and pale, and Nick could see the telltale swelling under his jaw. Only his third guest, Billy Warner, seemed more or less okay, but he'd gone from defiant and furious to scared and begging.

Nick couldn't let them out. He'd made a promise to Sheriff Baker, and he wasn't going to let him down. He wondered if Kai could drive them all up to Camden, the Calhoun County Seat. He could ask her to call on his behalf to figure out the details, and then…

Except apparently she was wanted by the cops (or someone) for her boyfriend's "murder," and for all Nick knew there might be posters or something with her picture. Or one of the cops would recognize her from the bulletin. No, getting Kai any nearer to law enforcement than she currently was didn't seem like a good idea.

His phone vibrated again.

With a silent sigh he fished it out and checked the messages.

_\- Dr Soames just left. I'm sorry, Nick, he's gone. About 30 minutes ago._

_\- Hey, are you there? Pls let me know you got my message. Mrs Baker v upset, obvs. Gonna stay w her a little longer, wait for funeral home, then head your way. K?_

He rubbed furiously at his eyes and dropped down into the desk chair. Gone. Almost an hour ago now. Nick didn't believe in God, and he wasn't the praying type, but he sent a thought out to the ether for someone to look out for John Baker, a good man who defied stereotypes and who hadn't deserved to die like that. He should have gone peacefully, as an old, old man, surrounded by all the people who loved him.

He needed to answer before Kai started to worry. Frowning down at his phone, he typed, _\- Fuck._

A few seconds passed before it vibrated an answer. _\- I know. I'm so sorry. I know he was good to you. He was good to me, too._

She didn't know just how good, because Nick hadn't told her about the BOLO. He'd figured it would just upset her, and he didn't need her to tell him she hadn't killed Remy. He knew that already. But Sheriff Baker had trusted Nick's word, and his instincts about her, and hadn't called the number or otherwise turned her in.

_\- How's Mrs B?_

_\- Holding it together. Still feeling okay; just coughing/sneezing some. Do you think she could defy the odds and get better? Maybe that dr on tv just hadn't seen many patients._

He sent a fingers crossed emoji. Then, _\- I have to figure out some breakfast for these guys. Childress is sick af, Hogan's meh, but Warner's okay, and hungry._

_\- I'll call in an order at Ma's. I'll head your way after the funeral home gets here. There was a long pause, then the bubbles appeared again. - I think they're backed up. A lot._

He fought a shiver. _\- Fuck._

_\- Again, both succinct and accurate. Gotta go, Mrs B's tea's ready. Talk soon._

He typed and erased four or five emojis before deciding on a peace sign. He wished she were here or he were there. Something about her made him feel steadier and more sure of himself, like a type of psychic ballast.

He tucked the phone back in his pocket and wandered toward the Sheriff's office. It probably wasn't a good idea, but he wanted to check the TV. Maybe there'd been some kind of miracle cure discovered, or the talking heads were saying something new about survival odds. He turned it on and stood back to watch, but what he found dismayed him.

Most channels were playing infomercials. CNN was broadcasting a rerun of _Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown_. MSNBC had on Rachel Maddow from a week ago. Even Fox News was showing some old interview with President Orange. Soap operas or game shows on the major networks and _Downton Abbey_ (of all things) on PBS.

Apparently that avenue of information had been shut down.

He turned it off again and pulled out his phone. When he hit the web browser, a spinning wheel appeared and went round and round until he got a time-out message. Every website he tried gave him the same. He frowned at the symbol in the top right corner: no signal. Wifi, but no cell service. He had just been texting with Kai!

_\- Hey, are you getting this? My phone's showing no signal. I've got wifi, but can't get on any websites or anything. Also tv is showing nothing now, reruns and crap._

He hit send and waited. And waited. After about two minutes a little red exclamation point appeared next to his message. Send failure. She didn't have an iPhone, so the messages couldn't send over wifi.

"Fuck," he mouthed, silently, and shoved a hand through his hair. It seemed to be the sentiment of the day.

That fast, someone somewhere had flipped some kind of switch, and they were cut off. No cell signal meant a lot people didn't have any sort of phone, and apparently somehow the internet had been shut down too. He had no idea how that worked, or why they'd bother leaving people with wifi that didn't do much good, but maybe the latter was to keep everyone watching Netflix while the world burned.

Nick didn't have Netflix, but he did have what felt like a front row seat to the apocalypse. It was a shitty show, all told, and he wished he could get his money back.

* * *

"Goddammit," Edie muttered at her phone. Yes, it was a cheap piece of shit burner, but it had worked fine up until now. It had been a few hours since she'd talked to Nick, and the funeral home had just called to say they were finally on the way. When she tried to text to let him know, she got a send failed message…and she had no cell service.

That seemed ominous.

She knew the home phone worked; that was what the funeral home had called; but fat lotta good that did her trying to talk to Nick. Maybe if Mrs. Baker had an iPhone she could text him over wifi and tell him to download some kind of instant messenger app that she could use on her phone too.

She tiptoed down the hall to the Bakers' bedroom. Jane hadn't left her husband's side in the hours since he'd died early that morning. Edie had been bringing her tea, and toast with honey, but the food largely went uneaten. She waited in the doorway until Jane lifted her head and offered a wan smile.

"Somethin' you need, hon?" she said. Her voice was scratchy and a bit weak, but that might just be from crying. She didn't seem to be running a fever, and her cough wasn't as bad as it had been.

"Sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if your cell is working? I was trying to text Nick, but I don't have any service and my messages are bouncing back."

"Hmm." Jane picked her phone up off the nightstand and inspected it. "I'm not showin' a cell signal either, but I do have wifi. I think I have that iMessage thingie, if Nick does. That works over wifi, doesn't it?"

Edie relaxed into a smile. "Yeah, it does. Do you mind—?"

"No, of course not. You tell him I said hello, and to take care of himself. I don't want him gettin' sick too." She handed the phone over, and Edie stepped closer long enough to put a fresh mug of tea at her elbow and to take the old one away.

"Thank you, ma'am. I'll get it back to you soon."

"No rush, sweetheart. I'm just sayin' goodbye to my John before the funeral home gets here." She sniffled and squeezed his hand. "Not too long now. Oh!" she said. "I hear a car outside. It might be them now. Be a lamb and go see for me?"

"Of course, Mrs.—Jane. I'll send them back."

It was them, two large men in suits and one thin one. Edie pointed them toward the bedroom and could hear the thinner man speaking to Mrs. Baker in hushed tones. She offered them all tea or coffee, but they declined. They were obviously in a hurry, but still they were respectful and kind.

They looked exhausted, and all three had some version of the sniffles.

They wheeled the Sheriff's body out on a gurney and boosted it into the back of a van with the home's logo on the side. Jane signed some papers and stood on the porch with Edie until the van was out of sight.

Jane let out a strangled little breath. "Well. After all that."

"They were…efficient," Edie offered, gently.

"Yes. Which I appreciate. I can pick out a suit for the funeral and—" She broke off into an abrupt, violent cough that staggered her tiny frame. "Dear me," she said when the fit passed.

"You should go lie down," Edie said. "I'll take Nick and his prisoners some lunch while you rest, but if you need anything at all, call down to the station. The landlines still work."

"Were you able to get through to him with my phone?"

"I didn't have a chance to try." She pulled the phone from her pocket and typed in Nick's number.

_\- It's Kai, on Mrs B's phone. Mine own't send texts._

The wait for an answer was a short one. _\- I tried to msg you and they all bounced back. Cell phones are down. Wifi here still works, but tv is just reruns. What the hell is going on?_

Edie let out a relieved breath. "It went through. He said he doesn't have a cell signal either, but wifi down at the station still works."

She replied, _\- Trying to prevent panic, I guess. More panic. I'm going to make y'all some lunch and head down there. The funeral home just came for sjb._

The phone was silent a long time, to the point that Jane craned her neck to peer at the screen. "Where did he go?"

"Good question. The message went through."

Then, _\- Only need lunch for 3. Mike Childress is dead._

* * *

"I got here as soon as I could," she signed as she burst through the station's front door. "Are you okay? Where is he? What about the other two? Nick, Jesus, I'm so sorry!"

He was amazed that her hands could move that fast, especially with a basket looped over one arm. "He's still in his cell. I'm not sure what to do with…the body. Vince Hogan is sick as hell, but Billy Warner doesn't seem much worse than earlier. Scared, more than anything. Don't blame him."

He paused. Then, "Also hi."

"Sorry," she said. "Hi. I'm just—" She broke off with a gesture of frustration. She wasn't sure what she was. Exhausted. Terrified. Heartbroken. Too many things to put into words.

"You don't have to explain. I am too."

She set the picnic hamper of food down on the desk and boosted herself up beside it. Pulled her feet up to sit cross-legged and reached into the basket for a sandwich, which she tossed to him. He caught it with one hand and thanked her with the other.

"I hope no one's allergic to peanuts. It seemed like a peanut butter and jelly sort of day."

"Works for me," he said. He sat in the chair she normally took, the one next to the desk, and moved the hamper so he could see her while he ate. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Not really," she said. "I've been trying to get Jane to eat all morning, so I've been nibbling."

He eyed her, then passed her half his sandwich, which she took with a brief smile. She was touched by the simple kindness of the gesture, and for a moment tears threatened, but she managed to blink them away.

He noticed, of course, but he didn't comment.

They ate in silence, punctuated for her by the sound of coughs and sneezes coming from the cells. For him it was just quiet, and, for the first time all day, peaceful.

"You could call the same funeral home that took Sheriff Baker," she said after a time, "but it took them seven plus hours to get to us, and that was for the Sheriff."

"A dead prisoner wouldn't exactly be a priority."

"Nope."

He chewed a bite of peanut butter and jelly. Crunchy, with strawberry. His favorite. The bread was some of the best he'd ever had. "Did you make this? It's good."

"Just spreading peanut butter and jelly on bread, Nick. Not that hard."

He shot her a glare. "You know what I meant."

Her mouth twitched. "Yes, I made it. Honey oat with walnuts. You like it?"

"Fucking amazing. Didn't know bread could taste like this."

She ducked her head to hide her expression from him. Her hair fell in a curtain so he couldn't see how her cheeks glowed at the praise. The quickest way into her good graces was to enjoy her food, and she was especially proud of her bread.

"Maybe if we make it through this I'll make you cinnamon rolls."

"You mean those things that come in a can? With the little cup of icing?"

It was his turn to tease her now, and she stuck her tongue out at him. "Smartass."

He lifted his brows in an innocent shrug. Then he smiled, sweet and slow and almost wistful. He reached over to tap her knee with two fingers. "We'll make it, Kai. I'm not dying of some fucking flu with a stupid name, and neither are you."

"Stupid name?" she said. Her eyes flicked to where he touched her, then back to his face. "What name?"

"Apparently they're calling it Captain Trips," he signed, with both hands, and missing his easy, casual touch made her restless. She pushed off the desk and took a moment to peer through the blinds out into the empty street.

"Captain Trips," she said with a snort. "That is a stupid name."

"Told you," he said. He stood and joined her at the window. "I was exploring some earlier. There's a basement that's cooler than up here."

Her mouth fell open. She shut it again with a _snap_ and swallowed hard. "Yeah. That's a good idea."

"I can probably do it alone," he said.

Her head tilted as she studied his earnest expression and shadowed eyes. "No," she said, slowly, and with a troubled shake of her head.

"I don't mind. I mean—I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can." She touched his cheek, a feather-light brush of her fingertips across the butterfly bandages there. "No doubt you can. But you're not."

He looked down—not very far; at six feet he probably only had four or five inches on her—to watch her face rather than her hands as she said it. He felt for her then an overwhelming, oddly familiar wave of trust and…something else. Hope, maybe. That thing with wings that was normally such a stranger to him, except for lately. When he was with her. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and gave it a little tug. His mouth quirked in a rueful half-smile.

"I wish—"

She stopped him with a quick tap of her fingers against the back of his hand. She wasn't sure what he was about to wish, but she had an idea, and thought it was better left unsaid. "None of that," she signed, brisk and clipped. "We're here, now, in this up to our goddamn eyeballs. Only forward, Nicky. Never back. Or—sideways."

She'd used his name sign and said _Nicky_ —he recognized the shape of it on her lips—and for a moment he had to close his eyes, to just breathe in the silent dark, and when he opened them again she was giving him a curious look.

"You're right," he said. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin in the stubborn way she'd already come to recognize. "Only through."

"Good." She took a deep breath and stepped back to tie her long hair up in a ponytail. "Which means we should get this over with. It's not going to get any more pleasant the longer he lays there."

He grimaced in acknowledgement and gestured for her to follow him back to the cells. She grabbed the two other bagged lunches and a couple of bottles of water on the way. Billy Warner accepted his with a mumbled thanks, but Vince Hogan barely stirred off the cot.

"He's real sick," Warner said. "Doc ain't been in since last night."

"The doctor's a little bit busy right now," Edie told him. "Lots of people are sick."

"You just gonna leave me in here with him? And with Mike?! He's dead!"

She glanced at Nick, then back at Warner. "We're moving him right now. Eat your lunch. Make sure you drink all your water. Try to get some water in your friend, too."

He gave a phlegmy snort. "Look at you, talkin' to me like you give a goddamn shit. I kicked your friend's ass, Miss Highfalutin', and I'd do it again gimme half a chance."

She put on her sweetest smile and leaned in close to the bars. "I know you would, sugar. That's why he's not opening this cell for you any time soon. Maybe change your fucking attitude and you might get lucky."

He might have reached for her then, grabbed her, but he was slow with fever, and she pulled back before the thought fully formed in his fogged brain. "Come back over here, sweetheart, and we'll see who gets lucky," he said with a leering wink.

Nick took her arm and pulled her away. "Don't," he said. "Guy's mean, stupid, and scared. It's a bad combo."

"I'm feeling at least two out of those three," she signed without speaking it aloud. "I'll let you guess which two."

His face scrunched in commiseration before he waved her toward the other cell. Mike Childress lay where Nick had found him, sprawled out on the floor, his head against the bars and his feet against the can. The glands under his jaw and in his arm pits were hugely swollen, and flies collected in the snot that covered his face.

"I'll drag him out," Nick said. "Then you grab the feet and I'll get the head. Okay?"

She couldn't take her eyes off his body. Jane Baker had kept her husband cleaned up, and he'd looked almost peaceful when the funeral home boys arrived to take him away. Childress looked like he'd died exactly as he had: alone and afraid, a rat in a cage.

"I think you have to let them go," she signed. "Especially if Hogan…it's not right, Nick. People weren't meant to die like this."

He took one of her hands and turned her face away from the gruesome sight. Her eyes followed more slowly, but finally they darted up to meet his. "I will," he said, patiently and gently. "But right now we have to take care of Childress. You don't have to do this, Kai. I told you that."

"No," she said. She closed her eyes and took a slow breath in and out. Gave herself a little shake. "No, I'm here. Let's do it."

He nodded with far more bravado than he felt. Inside his stomach quaked and churned. It was all he could do to keep from bolting. But he had a responsibility, and this was part of it. He gave her shoulder a reassuring pat and turned to unlock the door.

When he grabbed Childress' shoulders, a small cloud of angry black flies erupted from his mouth. Nick stumbled back; would have fallen if she hadn't been there to catch him. She shot a glare over her shoulder, no doubt at Warner and some smart remark that Nick couldn't hear, and then offered Nick a reassuring smile.

"That was gross as shit," she said.

He nodded adamant agreement and took a moment to collect himself before he reached for Childress again. The body was stiff, but the smell wasn't as bad as he was expecting. He dragged him clear, and Kai moved around to his feet. She knelt, grabbed his ankles, and lifted.

The steep stairs to the basement were tricky, but they managed it without incident, and finally they had him stretched out on the basement floor. Nick crossed Childress' arms over his chest while Kai found a tarp to drape over the body.

"Should we say something?" she said.

He shrugged. "Fuck Captain Trips."

"Fuck Captain Trips."

They stood shoulder to shoulder looking down at the draped body, until at last she pulled away and mounted the stairs. He lingered only a little longer before following. He flipped off the light and shut the door behind him, and when he walked out to the main office she was nowhere to be seen.

He frowned and glanced down the hall. The bathroom door was open, the light on. He wandered that way to find her bent over the sink soaping and scrubbing her hands. He took the sink next to her and washed his, counting to thirty in his head as he did so, but even after he'd finished and dried them she was still scrubbing.

Steam rolled up from the tap and when he caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror he saw that she was crying. Shit, he thought. He reached around to turn off the water. Gently turned her toward him and patted her hands dry with a paper towel.

"I think you got it," he said.

"I'm sorry."

He wiped the tears off her cheeks and tossed the towel in the trash. "What for?"

She sniffed. "I'm really not losing it. I promise."

"I know," he said.

"You're very calm."

A laconic shrug. "I have lots of practice acting like things don't bother me."

"Of course," she said. "Bullies can smell weakness like sharks smell blood." She slumped against the wall next to the sink and let her head fall back to rest on the cool tile. "I should get back to Mrs. Baker."

"You should try to get some rest," he said. "I don't think anything'll be any easier for a while."

"You should too. Your prisoners aren't going anywhere."

"Okay. I'll take a nap if you will."

Her lips curved, briefly. "Deal." A long sigh and she hauled herself upright. "When Dr. Soames came by to pronounce Sheriff Baker he told me he has a little cabin up by a lake about an hour from here."

"Is he going there?"

"No," she said. "He said he's sticking it out until every last patient is either recovered or gone. He said we should go there."

He frowned. "I don't understand."

"He knows we aren't sick. Whether we're immune or not is a different question, in his mind, but since we haven't caught it yet, he thinks we should get away from people until things die down. He said he keeps it pretty well stocked with non-perishables, and fishing in the lake is good." She peered at him. "Do you fish?"

He gave a silent laugh and shook his head.

"That's okay; I do. There's a solar generator in case the power fails, and it's on well water."

"What about Nebraska?"

"We're still going to Nebraska," she said. "But…things are going to be hairy for a while. You saw the news before they cut it off. People are rioting, the military is out there doing God knows what. Until…" She paused for a deep breath. "Until the flu does its work, it'll be mayhem out there, and it might be better to find a place to lie low for a week or two before we head for Nebraska."

He hadn't thought of that, but she was right. Scared, desperate people did scary, desperate things, and he'd already had his monthly ass-kicking. He wasn't looking for another one any time soon. He had no doubt Kai could defend herself, but he didn't want her to have to unless absolutely necessary. He felt a quiet, distant urgency to reach Hemingford Home and Mother Abagail, but the feeling probably wouldn't be either quiet or distant if their presence was immediately required.

"Do you know how to find it?"

"He gave me directions. And the keys."

"You're right," he said. "It's a good idea." He scrubbed a hand down his face, wincing at his busted nose, swollen eye, cut cheek, and split lip. "I feel like fuckin' Frankenstein."

"Look a little like him too," she said with a sympathetic grimace. "But, like, in a cute way. Soft Frank."

"My face is normally kind of okay. At least"—he shot her a quick smirk—"no one's ever kicked me out of bed for eating crackers."

It made her laugh, as he'd meant it to. "Who could, with eyes like those?"

 _Funny_ , he wanted to say but didn't, _I've thought the same thing about you_. Instead he just grinned and shrugged. Then, "Go check on Jane, then lie down. I'll text her number if anything happens."

She nodded. "Yeah, okay. And I'm sorry again about…" She waved a hand toward the sink, but he just shook his head.

"Don't. No need." He stepped closer, as though to put his arm around her, but at the last minute twisted away and gestured for her to precede him. "I'll walk you out," he said.

She hesitated. Then, in a rush, "I don't like to be touched. Casually."

A thoughtful tilt of his head. "I got that impression. If I made you uncomfortable—"

She held up a hand to stop him. "I don't mind. When it's you."

His full mouth eased into one of those slow, wry smiles. "I don't much like to be touched either," he said.

"Okay," she said. "As long as we're clear on that."

Their eyes met, dark brown on brilliant gray-blue, and he held out his hand. The tension drained from her shoulders. She laced her fingers loosely through his. He ran his thumb across her knuckles, and neither of them let go until she walked out the door and onto the hot, empty sidewalk.

* * *

Edie was in the Bakers' kitchen working on a batch tea cakes when the doorbell rang. Jane was finally asleep after a long, restless afternoon of fever-driven hallucinations punctuated by periods of lucidity when she mourned for her husband. Edie had slept a little, but only an hour or two, and at this point she was running on caffeine and adrenaline, so the sound of the bell nearly gave her a heart attack.

She pressed a hand to her chest and took several deep breaths. _Calm the fuck down, d'Arnaud_ , she told herself. _It's only the end of the world_.

That thought made her giggle (she was _very_ tired), and she dropped the spoon into the bowl and went to answer it. She checked the peephole, and when she opened the door her eyes were wide with surprise. "Nick! How did you get here? Are you okay? What's going on?"

He shook his head and gestured inside.

"Yeah, of course, come to the kitchen. Mrs. Baker's sleeping and I've been working. Do you want something? Coffee? Tea?"

He felt some of his exhaustion slip away the second he saw her, and at the mention of hot caffeine he perked. "If you have fresh coffee I'll love you forever."

"Ahh…" She laughed a little and looked away. "You must be as tired as I am. This way."

He followed her down the hall, his steps slow and shuffling, and sank gratefully into the chair she offered. She brought him coffee, but he shook his head at the milk and sugar. He did shove two entire still-warm teacakes into his mouth and let his head fall back as he chewed. He gave her a thumbs-up before taking a long sip of coffee and swallowing it all down.

"Well," she said. "I guess it has been a while since pb and j."

"Sorry," he said with a grimace.

"Nothing to apologize for. They were made to be eaten. Can I make you something more substantial?"

"Maybe in a little while. I need to…" He blew out a breath that ruffled his hair and drank some more coffee. "Vince Hogan died a few hours ago."

"Shit," she said.

"Yeah. It wasn't really a surprise, but…" His face scrunched. He made a pattern in the crumbs on his plate and studied it like a Rorschach test. "Why am I so bothered by it? Those guys could've killed me. Booth wanted to kill me, because I punched him, but Doc Soames drove up and they ran off. I might be in traction or the morgue right now if not for him, but I feel sorry for these two dead idiots rotting up the Shoyo jail!" He threw both hands out in a gesture of frustration and slumped back in his chair. "It's fucking stupid."

"No it's not. It's compassion, Nick. Those assholes couldn't beat it out of you."

A frustrated snort. "They sure as fuck tried."

"For what it's worth, I'm glad they didn't."

He shifted restlessly. "Yeah. I guess I am too."

She replaced his empty plate with her own. He gave a nod of thanks and nibbled one of the cakes before setting it down again. He had the urge to get up and pace, but he was too tired.

"What happened to Billy Warner?"

"Let him go," he said. "Like I said I would." He frowned. "I would have anyway. I know Sheriff Baker gave me an important job, but I think even he'd recognize that these are unprecedented circumstances."

"I think he would," she said, mildly.

"How's Mrs. Baker?"

Now it was her turn to get restless. She rose from the chair and went back to her mixing bowl. Gave it a few halfhearted stirs. The oven timer went, and as she opened it the room filled with steam and the delicious scents of strawberry and…roses? Yeah, roses. The two he'd devoured had been vanilla, but apparently she had more exotic recipes on deck.

"Not great," she finally said. "Her fever came back. Worse than ever, I think. I've been giving her Tylenol for it, and bathing her in cool water and alcohol, but it's not helped. She's finally sleeping now." She slumped against the counter with a grimace. Rubbed the back of her neck. Squeezed it and arched her back to stretch the aching muscles there.

Nick was proud that even in his worn-down state he still managed not to ogle her chest as she did it. She must have noticed, because when he finally did look at her, she was giving him a knowing sort of smirk.

"How did you get here?" She knew he didn't drive. Maybe he had a bicycle she didn't know about? Or had managed to hitch a ride?

He thrust a hand into his hair and then waved it toward the street. "Walked," he said. "It was only a few miles, but after carrying Hogan to the basement—"

"Alone?! Nick, I would've helped you!"

"And getting my ass kicked the other night," he continued like she hadn't moved, "it seemed a lot further."

"Were you able to sleep this afternoon?"

He shrugged. "A few hours. You?"

"About the same."

He finished off his coffee and pushed to his feet. "You go rest. I'll sit with Mrs. Baker for a while."

"Are you sure?"

"I'll come wake you up when I need you to spell me. We can trade off, so she's not alone."

She shifted her weight uncertainly. Glanced over her shoulder at the counter full of finished teacakes and raw batter. "I was going to make you something to eat."

"I can manage. Go to bed!"

"You're so fucking bossy," she said with a scowl.

"Only sometimes." He flashed a tired, drunken grin. "And I don't think you mind as much as you pretend to."

She lifted a brow but decided to let that lie. "Fine. Their bedroom is at the end of the hall, third door on the right. I'll be in the guest room, first door on the left. They have their own bathroom, but there's also one across the hall from the guest room. Don't let me sleep too long, Nick, I mean it."

"I won't. I promise." He waved her off, out the door and into the hallway. "Go!" He followed her down the hall, shooing her the whole way, and just before the bedroom door closed behind her she shot him the bird. He grinned at the shut door a moment before giving himself a little shake and continuing on to the Bakers' bedroom.

Kai had left a small lamp burning on Jane's vanity. It was just enough to keep the room from being dark without disturbing her as she slept. Nick stepped closer to the bed and pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, but before he even touched her he could feel the heat radiating off her skin. There was swelling under her jaw, too. That was usually the last stage, but it wasn't too bad yet, so that gave him a sliver a hope.

Jane stirred, shoving the covers off with an irritated gesture, and opened her eyes. "Nick," she said. Her lips moved in a beatific smile. "How wonderful to see you."

He smiled back and pointed at her. Then he frowned and pressed his hand to his forehead. Waved like he was fanning himself.

"Fever's bad," she agreed. "Edie brought me a cool cloth earlier. Could you rewet it for me? It was helping, I think."

He nodded and grabbed the washcloth and basin off the nightstand. In the bathroom he let the tap run until the water was as cold as it was going to get before filling the bowl and adding some rubbing alcohol. He hated the smell of it, alcohol. It reminded him of those days in the hospital after his mother's accident, sitting by her bed wondering if she'd ever wake up. More recently it recalled the fresh pain of his beating, and Doc Soames' well-meaning but stinging first aid.

Back in the bedroom Jane was shifting restlessly in bed. "Can't get comfortable," she said. "Everything hurts."

Nick nodded in commiseration and handed her the wrung-out cloth.

"You're an angel. Where did Edie get to?"

He folded his hands against his face to mime someone asleep.

"Good. That poor girl is running herself ragged." She eyed him. "You don't look much better. I know you children are young, but you still need your sleep." She sighed (or so he thought) and her expression turned dreamy and faraway. "Of course, you don't get much sleep when you're young and in love. John and I sure didn't."

He gave her an odd look. Pointed at himself, then over his shoulder toward the hall and shook his head.

"I know John's not here," she said. "You don't have to tell me that. He's down at the station. Winning that election means so much to him. He really wants to do right by this town."

That, of course, wasn't what he'd meant, but he had a feeling Jane didn't know exactly when or where she was, so he let her talk. She meandered on about John and their courtship. The wedding. The honeymoon.

Her eyes began to drift closed, and Nick gently took the washcloth from her limp hand. "My honeymoon dress," she said.  
His head tilted in a question.

"It's there, in the closet. Pale blue with lace. You'll know it from the lace." She turned her head to cough, then looked at him again. "Bury me in my honeymoon dress, Nicky. Please."

He gave a firm shake of his head and pointed at her. Wagged his finger like he was scolding a child.

She smiled just a little, a wavering curve of her chapped lips. "That's very kind, but we both know where I'm headed. It's okay." She patted his hand. "It's okay. I'll be with my John." Her eyes closed. "My John…"

He watched carefully to make sure her chest still rose and fell, and when he saw it he sat back with a relieved gust of breath. He'd thought that was it, that he'd have to go wake Kai and tell her Mrs. Baker had died while she (finally) slept, and she'd missed it.

She began to shiver, so he pulled the covers up over her again. Gradually she relaxed, but her breathing remained rough and irregular. He was glad he couldn't hear how it sounded; that would probably make things worse. He shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered to the bedroom window. Outside the street was empty, illuminated by cold, impersonal LED streetlights that cast wide white pools on the asphalt. In the distance lightning flashed, a great fork of it.

Maybe it would rain and break some of the heat. That was always the wish as June spun toward July, and the number of hot, endless days stacked up behind you seemed the same as the number ahead.

Hopefully there wouldn't be a tornado, since there wasn't anybody out there to warn them about it. Would his phone do its warning thing? Or did someone have to push a button somewhere for that?

Something moving out on the street caught his eye. A dog? A healthy dog?! It stepped from the shadows into the light and he saw at once that no, it wasn't a dog. It was a coyote. Just one, alone, mangy-looking and skinny. Its gold eyes seemed to fix themselves on Nick, as if such a thing were possible through a window, and he thought he saw an old, wicked knowing there, even from such a distance.

He was imagining things. Spooked by the day and the days and the coming storm. The coyote watched him, calmly, and Nick reached up to close the blinds.

Imagining things or not, coyotes were _his_ , and Nick wanted no part of them. He'd had no idea coyotes even lived in Arkansas. And didn't they usually run in packs?

 _I'm not your roadrunner, motherfucker_ , he thought. _I'm your anvil from the clear blue sky, and I'm not afraid of you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super long one today, lads, because otherwise tomorrow's would've been super short.


	6. Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Kai keep watch over Jane Baker's final hours, then grow closer in the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read ch5 within like...2 hours or so of me posting it, you might wanna go back and check, because I added a bit at the end, because I decided I wanted this whole part to stand alone. The "new" section starts when Nick gets to the Bakers' and ends with the coyote, so if you read that, you're good. If not, you might wanna hop back and check it out.
> 
> I'd love to hear what y'all think!! :) Also, I think from now on I'm going to try to stick to publishing Friday and Saturday. I've got through chapter 13 completely written, and that schedule gives me time to keep ahead of things. This one's gonna be long, kiddos.

**teach me how to use  
the love that people say you made  
**The Avett Brothers, "Laundry Room"

 **June 25 - Shoyo, AR**  
Hours later they sat in the bedroom together, one on either side of the bed, and kept their final death vigil for Jane Baker. She thrashed in her sleep, and when she woke she called out for John in a thick, choking voice. Nick or Edie would try to soothe her, and she might doze off again, only for the whole thing to repeat a few minutes later.

They watched her struggle for every breath and they just wanted it to be over. Edie couldn't stop thinking about Remy and Nick kept getting up to pace laps around the room. He'd stop sometimes and peer out the window like he was looking for something, but when she asked him what, he just shook his head and kept walking.

It was nearly noon, and Nick was at the window again. Jane's eyes opened, and for the first time in hours she seemed lucid. She turned her head and saw Edie, and a brief smile flickered across her lips.

"You're still here," she gasped between breaths.

"Of course I am. Nick's here too. We're not leaving you."

"Not too much longer."

"Please don't say that," Edie said. She took Jane's hand between her own and squeezed, gently. It was hot and dry, the skin thin as paper. She ran a cool cloth over Jane's forehead and down the side of her face, but she pushed her away with surprising strength.

"None of that now. I need to say something."

Edie glanced up at Nick, but Jane shook her head. "This is for you alone, not him." She closed her eyes, and for a moment Edie thought she'd fallen asleep, but she was just gathering herself. She opened them again and fixed Edie with a firm glare. "Love isn't built on lies, Kai. You know that."

Her mouth fell open. First of all, how did Mrs. Baker know her middle name? Secondly, what the hell was she talking about? She swallowed, and when she spoke again her voice was shaky and rough. "You mean—you mean Sarah and me?" she said.

"No, sweetheart, not your wife. I know you loved her."

_How? I never even told you I was married, much less to a woman!_

"But she's not who I'm talkin' about." She gestured her closer, and with a pounding heart she leaned in. "You have to tell him, Kai," she whispered. "You have to tell him what you did."

A single tear slipped down Edie's cheek, but she barely noticed it. "I can't," she breathed through lips gone numb. "I've never told anyone. He'd—hate me."

"He could never hate you. Just as you could never hate him. It's not how you're built, my little wave."

She let out a cry and shoved back from the bed so hard the chair toppled. Nick spun toward her, alarmed by the sudden, violent movement.

"What's wrong?! Is she—?" No, he could see that Mrs. Baker's eyes were open and her chest still moved. "What's wrong?" he said again.

She could only shake her head, eyes huge and face pale.

" _Aloha au ia 'oe_ , my little wave. I love you, and don't be afraid. Don't be afraid. John! Don't be afraid, he's coming, he's comin', the coyotes are _his_!"

Kai pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle a sob and Nick stared first at Jane, then at her, then back to Jane. The woman in the bed grew more agitated with each word, building to what seemed like a scream from the way her face contorted and cords stood out on her neck. She fell back against the soaked pillow, spent, and let out one last, long breath before she went completely still.

Kai stood frozen, both hands over her mouth now, and her entire body shook as she cried. And maybe screamed, he couldn't be sure. He pressed gentle fingers against Mrs. Baker's neck, but nothing moved there. He held his cheek just above her mouth, but he felt no flutter of breath.

Finally he straightened. "She's gone." He waited for a reaction, but Kai's eyes were still fixed on Jane. "Kai?" He went around the bed and touched her arm. Pulled her gently around so that she faced him instead of Jane. Her hands fell away from her mouth but she was white as a sheet and she trembled all over.

"Kai, what happened? What was she talking about?"

She gave herself a rough shake. Her eyes were wide and dazed and staring, but not at him. "I don't—I don't know." Her fingers seemed too stiff to form the words. He took her hands in his and rubbed them, hard, as though restoring circulation.

"Kai, please. Tell me what's wrong. I didn't understand part of it. Was it English?"

A quick jerk of her head. "Hawaiian. _I love you_. She…she called me _little wave_."

His brow creased in confusion. "You mean like—like your mother called you? You said _little water_ , but—"

"Either or, she'd sign _water_ but sometimes write or orally say _wave_ ," she said in a rush. "She called me _Kai_ and _little wave_ and she spoke 'Ōlelo and she knew about—" She broke off and shook her head again, trying to deny the truth of what she'd seen and heard.

"Knew about what?"

Finally she looked at him, and some focus returned to her glazed eyes. "What did she mean about the coyotes?"

He frowned. Glanced behind him at the window and tugged at his hair. "Last night, after you went to bed but before the storm hit…" A silent sigh. "I thought I saw a coyote outside. Just one. It seemed to look right at me. Creeped me out a little."

"That's why you keep staring out the window. Did you tell her about it?"

"No, of course not. It was too…ephemeral. She would've thought I was nuts."

"I don't think you're nuts," she said.

"I know you don't." He paused. "You didn't tell her anything about your mom?"

"No, nothing. I told her I'm from Louisiana, and that I'm a baker. She also knew Sarah was my wife, but I didn't tell her anything about Sarah at all."

He rubbed a hand over his face, for once enjoying the tug of pain from his injuries. At least he knew that was real. "Okay, so. You said Remy sounded just like your dad before he died, so maybe it was the same kind of thing. Only—nice."

She frowned. "Why didn't you get to hear from your mom?"

"I'd rather not, thanks," he said, dryly. "Freaky coyotes and scary dreams are enough otherworldly weirdness for me."

"You dreamt about him last night?" she said. "During the storm?"

He gave a grim nod. "A bad one."

"Me too."

They stood watching each other a long time. Some of the color had returned to her face, but he could tell she was still badly shaken. He couldn't blame her.

Finally, "Did she tell you about the dress? Her honeymoon dress?" she said.

"Blue with lace."

"I looked in the closet earlier. It's there." She glanced at the bed and her face creased with emotion. "We should clean her up. Get her ready."

"Take her to the funeral home to be with her husband."

"Yeah," she said on a nod. "That's a good idea." Her head moved on rusty hinges until their eyes met. "I'm going to clean up a little bit, then we can get started. Okay?"

"Take your time," he said.

Another brief, distracted nod. She slipped past him and toward the bathroom, and he turned to watch her progress until the door shut behind her. For several long moments he couldn't move. His worn-out mind tried to process what had happened in the last ten minutes or so, but he honestly wasn't sure. He knew he hadn't imagined it, and he believed in a lot more weird shit than he had just a week ago, but….

The bathroom door jumped in its frame as something heavy and solid hit it from the other side. Startled, concerned, he rushed over and knocked. Of course he couldn't hear whether or not she wanted him to come in, so he waited a few seconds and pushed it open.

She sat on the floor, her back against the tub, her head bowed. He frowned and stepped toward her. Something shifted under his foot, and when he looked down he saw a large pair of metal scissors. Frown deepening, he bent to retrieve them before approaching her. There was no blood anywhere, on the scissors or the floor or her, so that was good. But something was different.

His eyes narrowed as he studied her, then went wide as he realized. Her hair!

She tipped her head back to look at him, and it swung around her shoulders, jagged and uneven. A long dark rope lay curled in her lap. She'd cut off her hair.

"Kai…?"

"It was in my way," she said. "Stupid to have hair that long now anyway. Soon we won't have access to a regular shower and it'll just get all dirty and gross. It's hot and it catches on things and—" She broke off and heaved in a breath. "Sometimes I do impulsive things when I'm upset."

He gave a slow nod and lowered himself onto the floor next to her.

"How bad does it look?" she said after a moment.

He waved his hand in a _so-so_ gesture, then nudged her and flashed a quick smile to show he was teasing. "I can maybe help you even it up some," he said.

"That would be nice. Thank you." There was a long, long silence. She bit her lip and thought about what Jane—her mother?—had said. Lifted her hands to say something, but then let them fall back into her lap.

 _Love can't be built on lies_ , she thought. Internally she snorted. _Good thing we're not building anything, then._

She looked down at the braid in her lap and held up the severed end with a rueful little laugh. "Honestly it was either this or try to seduce you, and fucking on a bathroom floor isn't one of my top fantasies."

He almost choked on his own spit, and he had to cough a few times before he had himself together enough to sign. "I'm sorry?" he said, because any of the other options that flashed through his head were out of the question.

"I tend to use sex as a distraction from feeling my emotions." She paused. "Hence cheating on my wife rather than just telling her I wanted a divorce."

"Ah." He frowned, then tilted his head in a shrug. "You know I'm here for you in any capacity you might need."

"Ha! Yeah, I'm sure you are." But she grinned as she said it, and he grinned back.

His expression sobered as he glanced around the room. Studied the linoleum so clean it almost sparkled. The matching towels. The fancy soap and the tray with candles and pretty little decorative rocks. At last his mouth quirked. "I've fucked in worse."

Her eyes followed his before landing on his face. "Hm," she said. "What, the unquenchable hormones of a twenty-something cis man?"

"Sort of. Not exactly." He settled in more comfortably and pulled his knees up, feet flat on the floor. "I told you I took off when I was eighteen. Wandered around and picked up odd jobs here and there. Sometimes the jobs weren't as easy to come by as others, and, well. I needed money." He spread his hands to indicate the bathroom, as though to say _you do the math_.

She did, quickly. "Hm," she said again. She eased herself into a mirror of his posture and for several long minutes she was quiet.

He wondered if he'd just blown it. Maybe some things were better kept secret.

In truth she wasn't sure what to say. She had questions, but she didn't want to insult or upset him. Or pry, though she felt that point between them had passed. At last she said, "Did you…" She frowned. "I mean…you…it was because…" An annoyed sigh. "No one forced you, right?"

"Oh." He shook his head, quickly. "Nah. I mean, another kid I knew suggested I try it, because he said it was usually easy money, but it's not like I had a pimp or anything. Just sometimes when I needed some extra cash I'd…" He trailed off and cast her an uncertain glance, but she waved a hand.

"Don't worry about being delicate on my account."

He let out a breath. "I'd suck a few cocks, or maybe get mine sucked, make a couple hundred bucks, and then I could afford a place to stay and something to eat. It was never a big deal, really. I was selective. A lot more selective than some of the guys I knew who did the same thing. And I was safe, always used protection and got tested a lot. My only real worry was that some guy'd pull a badge some time and then I'd really be fucked."

Her mouth quirked. "Did that ever happen?"

"Yeah, once." He scowled. "I should've known from that stupid cop haircut he had, but I was careless." A brief shake of his head. "I was charged, but the judge let me go because my record was clean, and I think she felt sorry for the poor deaf mutey out on the street."

"You gave her the puppy eyes, didn't you?"

"Maybe a little. You gotta play to your strengths, right?"

"Truly," she said with a wry smile to match his.

"Sheriff Baker must've seen it when he pulled my sheet, but he didn't say anything."

"One measly solicitation charge that was dismissed?" She flicked her fingers. "I wouldn't have said anything either. He might've thought it was just a misunderstanding."

"It wasn't." He eyed her a moment, then turned his head to look her full in the face. "You get that, right? It was never a misunderstanding. It's not something I'm ashamed of, but it's not exactly something I'm advertising, either."

She did get it. He'd told people before only to have it bite him in the ass, so he'd learned to keep it close. He'd learned to keep everything close, just like she did. But he'd told her because he trusted her—not to keep his secret (because who the fuck was there to tell?), but to not judge him for it.

"Nick…" She shook her head, lips curved in a soft smile. "Good for you for utilizing your talents in a lucrative way."

"Ha. You sound like a résumé."

The smile widened. "I know." She nudged him. "Look, it doesn't matter. It wouldn't have mattered even if the world weren't ending, but now that it is, who the fuck cares? If you're looking for someone to judge you, you've come to the wrong bathroom."

He nodded slowly, expression thoughtful. "I like this bathroom," he said, finally.

"I do too."

Their eyes met. Held. He knew there was something she wasn't saying, something that he'd missed back in the bedroom. Whatever it was had scared her more than any of the rest of it put together. She'd said Jane had known about something, but then dodged when he'd asked her what it was. She didn't want to tell him. Wasn't ready to, he supposed.

That was all right. He could wait. She might be afraid of her secrets, but he wasn't.

In that moment the air between them changed with an almost physical sensation, like ears popping in an airplane. Pressure eased, rearranged itself, settled in differently. She drew in a little breath, and the shadows in her stormy eyes seemed to thin a bit.

He smiled with half his mouth, just enough to show the dimples on that side, before he settled himself against the bathtub and let his head fall back to rest against the shower door. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the dark, empty silence. There was movement next to him, but he stayed still, and after another few moments her head dropped lightly onto his shoulder. He scooted down so she'd be more comfortable. Draped an arm around her and tilted to press his cheek to her silky hair.

She closed her eyes and wrapped both arms around his waist, but was careful not to squeeze. She didn't want to hurt him. He smelled of sweat and maybe a little bit of death, but she didn't care, because he was solid and warm and real. His breath moved in and out and his heart beat in his chest and he wasn't a ghost or a dream. He was Nick. Just Nick.

He ran a hand through her uneven hair and brushed his fingers against the back of her neck. Her shampoo smelled vaguely herbal and sweet, and beneath that was plain ordinary sweat and just then it was the perfect combination. He'd had enough of the uncanny to last a lifetime (though he knew the uncanny wasn't anywhere near as done with him as he was with it), and for the moment he was perfectly content to sit on a hard bathroom floor and hold this woman and not think about anything else but how soft and good she felt pressed against his side. Kai. Just Kai.

They stayed like that for a long time. Long enough that he dozed off a little, and when she stirred he jerked awake and gave a silent groan. Snoozing on bathroom floors was not for the bruised and battered. She pressed a hand to his chest in apology, then jerked it back when he flinched.

"What's wrong? I hurt you?"

He gave a little grimace and took his arm back. Hesitating, his eyes asking her to understand what he was doing, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He stopped about halfway down, then pulled his undershirt aside to expose the deep, sickle-shaped gash above his left nipple.

"Oh shit," she said with a wince. "They did that?"

"Booth," he said.

"Christ, he almost took your nipple off."

He tugged his undershirt back into place and redid the buttons. Flashed a sardonic half-smile as he remembered. "Doc Soames said I nearly lost my tit."

"Stabbed in the tit. What a way to go."

"Just like in _Jennifer's Body_ ," he said with a grim nod.

Her brow quirked. "You're so butch."

He shrugged. "All my murder weapons do come from Home Depot."

They shared a pair of dumb grins before she pushed herself upright. She shook herself to get the stiffness out, then stretched her arms above her head and arched her back. Bent at the waist to touch the floor. Straightened and twisted her torso first one way, then the other. She glanced down at him and reached out a hand, which he accepted gratefully, but when he attempted to imitate her stretching routine, he was less than successful.

"Ow," he said.

"Poor baby," she said, patting his cheek. "There's some aspirin in the cabinet there."

He waved a hand to indicate he would get some later, then pointed at her. She frowned. Turned to look in the mirror and made a face. He forestalled her with a gesture. Waved the scissors before pointing at her, then at the spot where she stood.

She waited while he dragged one of the chairs in from the bedroom and positioned it in front of the sink. He presented it to her with a little bow and an offered hand. She fought a grin as she curtseyed and allowed him to seat her. He draped a towel over her shoulders and then studied her hair from different angles.

"I think this should be wet first," he said with a brief frown.

She bit her lip. "That's what she said."

He shot her a Look. "Funny. Stay here." He disappeared for a while, and when he returned he had the spray bottle Jane used to mist her plants. He emptied it into the sink and refilled it with fresh water before spraying her hair damp. Satisfied at last, he started to cut.

It took longer than she'd thought it would, and when he finally stood back to let her inspect his work, she was impressed. "Wow," she said and ran her hands through it. "It actually looks good. You did a great job."

He tilted his head back and forth. "It's not bad. I worked one summer at a barber shop, mostly just sweeping and keeping the place clean, but I paid attention."

"Hmm," she said. Her lips moved in a droll moue. "When you weren't sucking dick in the back room, that is."

"Haha. I didn't suck any—well, no, that's not true. I had a weird on-again-off-again thing with a closeted bartender at the place down the street. But that was different."

"Closeted?" she said. "Or straight?"

He shrugged. "Either or. Ended the same."

She winced in sympathy. "Never fall for the straight ones. It always ends the same."

"I know that now, but back then I was young and dumb."

"And you're a regular Methuselah these days," she said.

"Well I'm not as old as _you_ , of course, but I've learned a few things over the years."

"Touché," she said with a dry quirk of her brows.

Another shrug and a grin before he rested a hand on either side of her face and held her head still so that he could give her hair one last look. He stood behind her, expression intent, and she watched him as he studied her. Some of the bruises were fading to yellow, and the swelling around his eye was almost gone. It was easier to see what he really looked like now, with his expressive, slightly down-turned eyes and his wide mouth. His beard needed a trim, and his hair too, but she suspected he stayed scruffy because without it he'd look about seventeen. Puppy eyes and a baby face. Only his nose, long and just a bit too big for his face, and that messy beard saved him.

He finally noticed her regard and smiled at her in the mirror, soft and a little tentative. She reached up to grip his wrist. Squeezed it and pressed her fingers lightly against the pulse there. He ran his thumbs along the strong lines of her jaw and behind her ears in a way that made her shiver. They held on a little longer, each enjoying the warmth and connection of skin against skin, before they both let go and he took a step back.

"It looks good," he said about her hair. "If you want it shorter or anything, let me know."

"It's good like this. There's still enough to pull it back, but it's off my shoulders." She ran a hand over her face and cast a sober look back toward the bedroom. "We should—get her ready. I can do it if it makes you uncomfortable."

He shook his head. "No. Both of us." He hesitated. "I should have asked your help with Vince. I just thought…it was awful enough the first time."

"It's okay. Just from now on…"

"I know," he said. "From now on." They shared a smile, and he held out a hand. "Come on. She needs to be with John."

She laced her fingers through his, and they went to take care of the woman who had taken such good care of them.


	7. Tomorrow, con't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Kai take care of Jane's body, and then Ray Booth returns to finish what he started with Nick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos since last time, y'all! I'd love some comments if you're so inclined. :)

**all i'm doing is trying to get by**  
**the road is getting narrow**  
**i'm flying through the arrows**  
**your sentences are sparrows flying through the sky**  
Bob Schneider, "Dirtmouth"

Together they stripped off Jane Baker's sweaty nightgown and wiped her down with rose-scented water. The honeymoon dress was much too big, but Kai pinned it up the back and around the waist. Nick added a string of pearls from her jewelry box, and then they took turns carrying her the two miles to the funeral home, because they didn't have a car that would take her lying down.

It was hot and humid and so goddamn quiet it gave them both the chills. They passed more than one wrecked car, the inhabitant dead or missing. Three churches so full of people they spilled out into the lawn, where they lay roasting in the blazing sun.

When they got there the funeral home was locked, and no one was around. Nick banged on the door while Kai yelled for someone to come, but it was as silent as the rest of the town had been. Just across the road was a pretty cemetery with lots of shady trees and solemn statues. Without discussing it, they took her there, found a spot under a spreading oak with a sweet looking angel nearby, and laid her out on the grass.

Neither spoke the entire trip back. Occasionally their shoulders brushed or their hands bumped, but otherwise they walked without touching.

Finally, a few blocks from the Bakers', Kai broke the silence. "We have to stop by the pound," she signed.

He blinked. "What?"

"The pound. The Humane Society! I know dogs"—she winced—"get the flu, but! But, if we're immune, maybe some dogs are too. What if there's a perfectly healthy dog trapped in a cage right now? And also we have to free the cats."

He stared at her a moment, at the conviction in her eyes and the stubborn slant to her mouth. He shrugged. "Yeah, okay."

Now it was her turn to blink. "That easy?"

"It would be both mean and stupid to try to talk you out of it. I'll check on the dogs, and you can take care of the cats. Okay?"

She knew he was protecting her from having to see a bunch of sick dogs, and for that she was grateful. "I'll figure out where it is. We'll stop on our way out of town."

"Okay," he said again. Then, "Mrs. Baker told me we should take anything we need from the house. She said the Sheriff liked to be prepared, so there are a lot of supplies in the basement."

She nodded. "She told me the same. Also she mentioned camping, so there might be tents and stuff too."

"Did she mention the car?"

"A hybrid, she said. It would help with the gas problem."

He hesitated. "Does it feel weird to you, scavenging their house like that?"

She glanced at him, brow crinkled thoughtfully. "A little. But she was adamant. We should think of it less as scavenging, and more as…them helping us one last time."

They'd reached the house by now, and they ambled up the walk and onto the front porch. She paused to glance around the neighborhood and wrapped her arms around her middle. Shivered despite the baking heat.

"I'd like to take a shower before we do anything," she said.

"You do that, and I'll check out the basement. Then we can switch."

"I'll make us something to eat, too."

His mouth quirked. "You really do love feeding people, don't you?"

She lifted her hands in a helpless shrug. "It's how I show I care. The only thing not improved by a good meal is a stomach virus, and luckily neither of us have that problem."

"Can't argue with that." She offered a tired smile and turned to go in the house, but he stopped her. "One thing…when he deputized me, Sheriff Baker showed me the gun cabinet at the station. I need to go back for my stuff anyway, and I think…it would be a stupid risk to go unarmed. We have no idea what's out there, and we might need to protect ourselves."

It seemed like a speech he'd been planning, perhaps on the walk back, because he expected her to argue. But she didn't. "I don't really like guns, but I was going to ask about something like that. Or about searching their house for some. Do you know how to shoot?"

He wagged his hand back and forth. "Some. You?"

"Not handguns, but my Grandmère taught me to use a shotgun when I was a kid." She paused. "She always said a woman should know the most effective way to get rid of a troublesome husband."

It surprised a silent laugh out of him. "She did not."

"She absolutely did. The woman was a character. Anyway, I'm sure there's at least one shotgun in there, so I should be good."

"Okay, so, we have a plan?"

"We have a plan."

* * *

They'd had a plan, and it was a good plan, and for the first part of it everything went fine. They got cleaned up, had something to eat, raided the frankly mind-boggling stash of supplies in the basement, and loaded up Jane's car, a small SUV hybrid that still smelled new. They decided to leave that afternoon, since nightfall was still hours away, and so they headed for the station.

"Maybe there's still wifi there," she said. Service at the house had cut out sometime during the day—they weren't sure when, because they hadn't exactly been paying attention—and Kai wanted to set up Jane's phone with her info, to see if she had any missed texts or voicemails from anyone back home.

At the station Nick retrieved his backpack and they hit the gun cabinet. He belted a .45 onto his hip and felt like Doc Holiday. She chose a shotgun and several boxes of ammunition. He took everything out to the car while she worked on her phone, and when he came back in she was staring down at the little screen with a look of horror.

"What? Did it work? What's wrong?" he said.

She gave a slow shake of her head and thrust the phone at him so he could see for himself. He ignored the voicemails and went for the texts instead. There were probably a dozen from Sarah, a few from Remy, and several from numbers that weren't in her contacts. Sarah's grew increasingly desperate, first angrily demanding to know where Kai (she called her _Edie_ ) was, then begging her to answer.

"They shut down the restaurant that first day," Kai said.

He nodded and kept reading. It sounded like they shut down the entire goddamn town. Military blocking roads in and out. Communication cut off. Internet down, where you could get a wifi signal.

"How the hell did she get these texts through?"

"I don't know. Maybe they wanted her to, in the hopes it would get me back."

"Have you listened to the voicemail yet?" The texts ended abruptly the day Kai got into Shoyo, but there were two more recent voicemails from Sarah's number.

"I…" She closed her eyes. "Go ahead and play them. Put it on speaker."

He did as she said. She didn't open her eyes as she translated the first message. It was more of the same from the texts, asking where she was, begging her to respond, but then a change. Kai's head tilted and she gestured for him to rewind it.

"She's whispering," she said. "Don't answer and don't come back. I can barely hear her. Fuck, now she's coughing. Fuck! Play the next one."

She started to translate that one, too, but she stopped partway through. Finally, "She was sick," she said. "Hard to understand." She took the phone from him and tucked it into her pocket. Wiped the back of her hand across her cheek. "She was saying goodbye. That was so stupid! Why did I do that?! I knew they were all dead. I didn't need to hear it for myself!"

"Maybe you did," he said, gently. "It can be hard to accept things we don't see for ourselves. Now you know. For sure." It felt like a lame platitude, some sort of bullshit psychobabble about closure, but he didn't know what else to say. Maybe she should've left it alone. But some part of him thought that, in the long run, hearing her former wife's goodbye would be good for her.

She gave a brief, hitching nod. "Yeah. You're right, I just…"

"I know," he said when she didn't finish the thought. "I'm sorry, Kai. Really."

"I am too," she said. She pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers and scrunched her face. "Let's just—get on the road. I'm gonna go pee, and I'll meet you at the car."

"Sure, sounds good." He figured she might want to talk about it some more later, but for now she needed to put it aside. He watched her disappear down the hall, and that was why he wasn't looking at the front door when it opened. It was why he didn't see Ray Booth come staggering in, neck swollen and face contorted with rage.

It wasn't until a pair of beefy hands closed around his throat that Nick even knew he was in danger.

* * *

Kai couldn't get the hoarse, thick sound of Sarah's voice out of her head. She had apologized for everything, told Kai she forgave her for Remy. Told her she loved her and she always would.

She had believed Sarah was the love of her life when they got married, and feelings like that didn't just vanish, no matter how bad things got. And now Sarah was dead, and Kai supposed she was technically a widow. No divorce papers had been signed, after all. Widowed at age twenty-seven in the pandemic apocalypse. That wasn't something she'd ever imagined for herself.

She carefully propped the shotgun between the two sinks and sat down on the toilet. Her mind wandered, remembering good times with Sarah and the life they'd built together, and how it had all gone so fucking wrong. She was really getting into a good brood when a noise from outside caught her attention. It sounded like something heavy hitting the floor. Had Nick knocked something over?

That wasn't like him. The only time she'd ever seen him close to clumsy was last night, when he'd come stumbling in at the Bakers' exhausted half to death. Otherwise he moved carefully and gracefully, like someone accustomed to hiding in plain sight.

She finished up quickly and washed her hands, and only just remembered to grab the shotgun on her way out the door. She slung it across her back, and as the bathroom door swished shut behind her she heard the definite sounds of a struggle: deep, choking grunts and rhythmic thumps that might be something hitting the floor over and over. Like a kicking foot, or a skull.

Adrenaline shot through her and she surged toward the commotion, skidded around the corner and came to a halt as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

Nick was on the floor, and a huge man straddled his much thinner form. The guy was clearly sick, in the end stages of the flu, but somehow he had enough strength to strangle the shit out of Nick. He let go of his neck and wrapped his hands around Nick's face instead, and she watched in frozen horror as he screwed his thumb into Nick's eye.

Her brain clicked into gear again and she let out a wordless scream. "No!" she cried. "Get off of him, get off!"

She started toward them and then remembered the shotgun. She swung it around, flicked the safety off, and pointed it directly at the asshole's head. "Get off of him or I swear to God we will find out if you have a single fucking braincell in that thick skull of yours!"

That got his attention. He turned his head slowly on a neck grossly swollen, and the look in his eyes when he spotted her sent a jolt of pure terror through her.

She didn't give him a chance to reply, or to move, and instead squeezed the trigger.

The gunshot was deafening, a roar that seemed much louder than one shotgun could produce, and for a moment she was staggered. The guy's head exploded from the first shot, but she pumped another round into the chamber and fired into his chest just to make sure. Blood, bone, and brains flew everywhere, and without making a sound (not that either of them would have heard it), he slumped sideways to bleed all over the floor.

Nick thrashed and flailed, desperate to get the weight off of him, and as soon as she realized what was happening, Kai hurried to help. She kicked and shoved at the man's dead weight, and Nick managed to squirm away.

She set the shotgun on the floor and dropped down next to him. His eye was a mess, and he had both hands pressed to either side of his head as though he were trying to keep it from splitting in half.

"Who the fuck was that?" she signed, her hands shaking so badly and moving so fast he could barely understand her. "Are you—stupid question. Of course you're not okay. God, Nicky, your eye. We have to—we've got—" What?! What did they have to do? There weren't any doctors, there was no hospital.

"Ray Booth," he managed. "It was Ray _fucking_ Booth. Kai, fuck, my eye, _fuck_!"

"I know," she said. She had to stay calm. He was on the verge of outright panic, and she could tell the pain was enormous. "I know, honey, I know. We've got—we've got to get you to Dr. Soames' office."

"Doc Soames is dead, Kai!"

"I know," she said again. "I know he is, but his office will still have supplies. Bandages and antibiotics. We've got to get that eye cleaned up or it's going to get infected."

His signs were sloppy and frantic, and tears streamed down his cheeks. "I'm gonna lose my eye I'm gonna have one eye fuck goddamn I need to see!"

"Hey!" She took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "I'm not going to lie to you. It looks bad. Really fucking bad. But he's dead, Nick. He can't hurt you again, and your other eye is fine. You're not going to be blind. You're not."

He nodded like his head was on a spring, then his face contorted with pain. "Fucking hurts!"

"Let's go," she said. "Come on, you just have to get to the car. Can you stand up?"

With her help he staggered to his feet, but when he tried to take a step he almost fell again. She wrapped an arm around his waist and let him lean on her shoulder. Together they stumbled to the car and she got him into it, then a few minutes later out again and into Soames' office. She had to bust out a window to get them in, and he leaned against the building like a drunkard while she did it.

They made it to an exam room and she sat him in a chair instead of trying to get him up onto the table. She gestured for him to stay put and went rummaging for supplies. A pair of gloves, bandages, tape, a little squeeze bottle with a pipette on the end. Some saline solution.

Back in the room she dropped the armload onto the counter and knelt in front of him. "Hey," she signed. "You still with me?"

He gave a slow nod.

"Good. I have to wash this out. I think it's going to hurt. Maybe a lot. I'll only need one hand, so you can squeeze the other as hard as you want, got it?"

"Do you know what you're doing?" His signs weren't entirely coherent, but she got the gist.

"Not…exactly. But. What are your options?" She held up the squeeze bottle of saline. "Do it yourself?"

He waved at her, then toward his face in a sort of _have at it_ gesture.

"Good choice." She held out her left hand and he took it in his. With a long, fortifying breath, she began to spray the blood-slicked skin around his eye. She set the bottle on the counter and dabbed the wet areas with a bit of gauze.

She offered an encouraging smile. "Not too bad, right?"

He shook his head, but then pointed at the bad eye and twirled his finger.

"No, I haven't really gotten into it yet. Keep still, okay? And I think I'll need my other hand after all."

He let go with a brief smile that was more like a grimace. She carefully lifted his eyebrow. He clenched his jaw so hard the muscles danced and jumped. Finally she sprayed the water into the bloody, messy socket.

He grabbed her wrist and reared back like he'd been shocked. His face twisted into a rictus of pure agony and his breath came in rough, uneven gasps.

"I'm sorry! Fuck, I'm so sorry!"

He shook his head and loosened his hold on her. "Keep going," he signed.

"Are you sure? I can—"

He squeezed. "Please. Keep going."

"Okay." She didn't have any clue how much to spray. Till the blood was gone? It didn't really seem to be bleeding much. Should she try to put Neosporin on it? Surely that didn't go on your eyeball!

He touched her chin with light fingers. "I trust you, Kai."

 _That makes one of us_ , she thought. But she just nodded, bit down on her lip, and sprayed his eye again. His reaction wasn't as extreme this time, but only because he was more prepared for the pain. Finally she set the bottle aside and dabbed the water away.

"I have no idea if that's enough, but it looks a lot better."

"Better?" he signed with a frown.

"Cleaner, anyway." She cut some gauze to the proper size and taped it into place. "There, how's that?"

He sat very still for a moment. Then, "Pretty sure I need to throw up," he said.

"Oh! Okay! Right!"

She jumped to her feet, grabbed a basin, and thrust it against his chest. He caught it just in time.

"Okay," she murmured, even though she knew he couldn't hear her. "It's okay." She rubbed his back with one hand and held his hair with the other. It was as soft as it looked, and now was not the time to notice that.

Finally he slumped in the chair and let his head fall back. She took the basin from him and set it aside before wetting a paper towel and wiping his face.

"There was a Coke machine in the hall. It'll help settle your stomach."

A weary nod, and he closed his good eye as he leaned forward to rest his forehead in his palms.

Nothing in her entire life had felt as absurd as feeding a dollar into the fucking Coke machine at the office of a dead doctor. Probably she should've checked for a break room. The fridge might be stocked with drinks. It felt morbid digging through dead people's things, but she figured she should start getting used to it.

She stopped back in the room to drop off the drink, then went searching for pain meds. There was nothing besides sample packs of Advil and Tylenol. No antibiotics, either. What kind of doctor's office didn't entertain drug reps night and day?

Dr. Soames must not've been a prescription factory like so many doctors in so many small towns. He'd given Nick some pain pills after the beating, though. Maybe he still had some left. She paused for a moment in the drug closet and felt, suddenly, the weight of what had just happened.

Nick could have been killed. He could be lying on the station floor dead right the fuck now. As it was he'd probably lost an eye, and she'd killed a man. She'd done it to save Nick's life, but…goddamn if she wouldn't shoot him again if he were standing in front of her right now, unarmed and helpless.

"He deserved it," she whispered.

 _That's what you said last time_ , a little voice whispered back.

She swallowed the tears that threatened and gritted her teeth. "Yeah, I did," she said. "And I was right then, too." Her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob. She paused. Gave it a good shake. And walked out of the closet, slamming the door behind her hard enough to make the pictures on the wall jump.

Back in the room Nick was slumped over and shivering, and when he raised his head his face was alarmingly pale, the pupil in his good eye huge.

"Oh, fuck," she said. She'd forgotten about shock. She held up both hands and gestured for him to stay, then ran for the car. They'd packed blankets in with the camping gear. She found one and hurried back.

"Okay, up here, quick," she said. He stumbled to the exam table and stretched out on it. She shoved one of the blankets under his feet and wrapped the other one around him. She rested a hand on his cheek; his skin was cool and clammy, which in this case was bad.

"I'm sorry," she signed. "I forgot about shock. I'm sorry."

He started to pull his arms from under the blanket, but she pushed them back down. "It's okay, don't say anything. You have to keep warm."

He gave a weak nod and closed his good eye. She brushed the dark curls back from his forehead and rubbed his arm. Soon the shivering subsided, and slowly the color began to return to his face. She let out a long sigh of relief and collapsed into the nearby chair.

She'd give him some time to rest, then they could head to Doc Soames' cabin. She wasn't sure she was up to driving right now anyway.

* * *

Several hours later she pulled up in front of a tidy little house with brown shaker shingles and red trim. Nick was asleep, slumped against the car door, and she gave him a shake. He woke slowly. Went to scrub his face and winced.

"We're here?" he signed.

"Seems so. Let's get you inside, and then I can take stock, see what we need to unload."

"I'm okay," he said. "I can walk. The drugs helped some with the pain."

"How's your stomach?"

He wagged his hand back and forth. "So-so. Don't think I'm gonna ralph again, though."

"Good," she said. "Come on, I'll make you some chamomile with honey, then we'll see if you feel like eating anything."

He managed a brief, tired smile. "Okay, mother hen. Whatever you say."

"You know chickens are omnivores? They're descendants of dinosaurs. Never underestimate a chicken."

His smile widened until the dimples appeared. "Noted."

She knew he was teasing her, but she didn't care. She cut the engine and stopped to wait for him to get out before heading to the door to unlock it. The key worked just fine, so clearly they had the right place. It was stuffy inside, hot and a bit dusty, and she let out a long breath. Tons of windows would turn this place into an oven during the day.

As though reading her mind, Nick tapped her shoulder and pointed. There was an AC unit mounted high on the wall, and she closed her eyes in relief.

"Thank God," she said.

"As long as the power's still on."

"If not we'll have to figure out the generator." She flipped the light switch and the overhead light and ceiling fan came on. They shared a relieved glance. It looked like the generator could wait.

The AC unit was powered by a remote control, they discovered, and after a bit of fiddling it was blowing cool air into the sweltering room.

"Have a seat," she said, tilting her head toward the couch. "I'll take a look around and let you know what we're dealing with."

He started to argue, but then he nodded and sank down onto the red and green plaid sofa. He was exhausted, in truth, and shaky as hell. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Ray Booth's red, bloated face above him. His neck throbbed and ached, and he could barely think for the pain in his eye. He was glad Kai hadn't tried to sugarcoat it earlier. He knew he was unlikely to see properly out of it again, and being told otherwise would have just made it even more frustrating.

He felt the air move around him and turned his head to watch Kai open the back door. The lake was just there across a small patch of grass, and he thought he saw a dock going out over the water. It was nearly eight, and the sun was going down, but he imagined during the height of the day the water would be mirror-bright under the clear blue sky.

She appeared a few moments later and perched on the coffee table in front of him.

"That didn't take long," he said.

"Not a very big place. One bedroom, one bathroom, and this common room. Kitchen over there. Nice pantry, well stocked, like Doc Soames said. I can make a run into the little town we passed through to see if there's anything cold still working, grab some meat before it goes bad, some dairy. I figure we should enjoy it while we can, because soon it'll be SPAM and evaporated milk for all."

He made a face and patted his stomach.

"Sorry, you're sensitive at the moment." She hesitated. Glanced toward what he guessed was the one bedroom. "About—sleeping arrangements…"

He waved a hand and pointed at himself, then the couch.

"You don't have to do that. You're hurt!"

He snorted. "What, can't stand to let the half-blind deaf mute sleep on the couch?"

"Can't stand to let the _girl_ sleep on the couch?!" she said with a lifted brow.

"Nope," he signed, blithely. He stretched out, kicked off his shoes, and put his feet up. "Sorry, couch is claimed. Guess you're stuck with the bed."

She rolled her eyes. "You're a goddamn pain in my ass, Nick Andros."

He smiled and patted her knee. "I know."

Her expression as she looked at him turned rueful. She brushed a curl off his forehead and very lightly traced her fingers along the bruises around his neck. "So that was Ray Booth," she finally said.

"Yep. Nice guy." He touched her chin like he'd done back at Doc Soames' office, and she cut her eyes up to his. "I'm glad you killed him."

"Pretty sure it was the only way to stop him."

"It was. He was half dead from the flu and look at how much damage he did. You saved my life. Thank you."

"I just reacted. You would've done the same thing."

"I tried. Couldn't get my gun out of the goddamn holster. Some Wyatt Earp I am."

"Gunslinging's overrated anyway," she said.

He nodded agreement and settled back against the pillow. His good eye was half closed and he looked ready to pass out any minute. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was that she hadn't been quicker, that she hadn't shot Booth before he took out his eye, but she figured he knew that already. And she didn't want him to think it came from a place of pity. More guilt than anything. But her guilt didn't do either of them any good, so she tried to put it away and focus on moving forward—like she'd told him…when? God she had no idea.

Finally she said, "I'll go make you that tea, then unload some things from the car. Get some rest, and wave me down if you need anything."

He gave another sleepy nod, but then jerked awake. "Hey, wait—we forgot the pound."

She smiled. "No, I stopped on the way. You'd already passed out. It was empty, actually. I guess one of the employees or volunteers had let the animals go when they realized how things were going."

He gave her a thumbs-up, too tired to form coherent words, and she left him to sleep. She couldn't believe it wasn't even eight o'clock yet. She felt like she hadn't slept in weeks. Make Nick's tea. Unload the car. And then maybe a long soak in the clawfoot tub she'd spotted on her tour.

That sounded so nice she wanted to cry, but instead she scraped her hair back into a ponytail, made sure Nick was comfortable on the sofa, and got down to work.


	8. Coyotes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick's injuries are worse than they thought, and Kai takes a harrowing trip into town after dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things to be wary of in this chapter: 1) wound care. proceed with caution if that sorta thing makes you squeamish; and 2) dead people.
> 
> Also I got tired of trying to figure out what kind of books a pharmacy might have so there's that. I even have a friend who's a pharmacist, but did I ask her? Guess.
> 
> I love reviews, y'all! I'd love to read some someday. :)

**now for me some words come easy  
but i know that they don't mean that much  
compared with the things that are said when lovers touch  
**Jackson Browne, "Late for the Sky"

 **June 26 - Doc Soames' cabin, somewhere in AR**  
Kai slept till nearly eight the next morning, which was late for her—though she'd been trying to adapt her circadian rhythms to Nick's, because who wanted to be up at four AM breaking camp or whatever? But it would be an easier task without the nightmares. Last night she'd fallen into bed a little after eleven and dreamt what felt like the entire night about coyotes. Coyotes in the corn, coyotes surrounding the cabin, coyotes stalking Nick as he worked away, oblivious. She tried to call his name, but for some reason in this dream he couldn't hear her, and she could only watch as the coyote pounced, and Nick was dragged to the ground under its mangy body.

She awoke from that one shivering and dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She could make bread today; there were packets of dry yeast and everything. Maybe Dr. Soames and his wife had been doomsday preppers like Sheriff Baker. Prepper light.

Nick was sound asleep on the couch, but she woke him and sent him to the bedroom. While her noise wouldn't disturb him, everything else would, and he needed to rest. He stumbled that way in a daze with a wave of thanks, and the door shut behind him.

Around lunchtime she woke him with some fresh baked bread slathered with honey, and he ate it like a starving man.

"How's the pain?" she signed as she perched on the edge of the bed and drew her feet up to sit cross-legged.

He hitched a shoulder and held up four fingers. Then flashed them again.

"Eight? That doesn't sound good. You still have plenty of those pills?"

He gave a quick nod and licked honey off his fingers. "I just took a couple. I hate how much they make me sleep."

"Sleep is good. Restorative."

"Yeah, but—" He broke off with a shake of his head and stared down at his empty plate, expression pensive and haunted.

"The nightmares." She blew out a rueful breath. "Me too. Coyotes?"

He nodded. "And him. Not in person, but his presence. I miss Mother Abagail. You don't think something's happened to her, do you?"

"No!" she signed quickly. Then, more thoughtfully, "No, I don't think so. We'd know. I think—he's trying to scare us. Keep us away from her. Divide and conquer."

He thought that over for a bit, but she could tell that the pain meds were starting to kick in. At last he pointed at her, then at himself, then crossed his fingers.

She tilted her head. "We have to stick together."

He nodded. "Coyotes run in packs. So do we."

"Teamwork makes the dream work," she said with a smirk.

He grimaced and pointed sternly at her, then at the door.

"You brought that on yourself," she said, still grinning. "But I'll go and let you sleep. You know where I am if you need anything." She slid off the bed, but as she started away he lightly grabbed her wrist to stop her. She glanced back at him in surprise.

"Still the best bread I ever had," he signed. He made the gesture big, arms wide, to show her just how best he thought it.

Her mouth quirked again, a brief half-smile. "I know," she said. She twisted enough to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Get some rest, Andros. May your dreams be sweet like honey."

"Sweet like you," he said with a drunken grin. He wouldn't have dared it if not for the drugs, and he wasn't even sure what it meant, because Kai d'Arnaud was a whole lot of things, but _sweet_ definitely wasn't the first word that sprung to mind.

"Thought you were trying to avoid nightmares," she said. She poked the center of his chest to gently push him back against the pillows. He tipped like a Weeble, and once she was satisfied that he was more or less horizontal, she turned to go again.

This time she stopped in the doorway and looked back with a thoughtful furrow to her brow. His eyes were closed, so he didn't see the way she studied him, or how she touched her fingers lightly to her lips like she still felt the warmth of his skin there. She gave a quick shake of her head at the ridiculous direction her thoughts had wandered and left him to sleep.

* * *

He appeared in the kitchen a few hours later when she was adding frozen vegetables to the soup she was making. She shot him a smile and a wave, and he pointed at the stove and rubbed his stomach.

"Smells good," he signed.

"Beef stew. I'm using what we brought in the cooler from the Bakers'. I thought maybe tomorrow you'd feel like going to town with me, so I wouldn't have to go alone." She eyed him. He looked pale under his naturally tan skin, and shaky on his pins. "You can stay in the car."

He nodded, but when he tried to step closer he wobbled and almost fell. She reached out and grabbed his waist to steady him.

"Whoa, hey, what's wrong?"

He closed his eye a moment, and when he opened it again a tear hung suspended on his long dark lashes.

"Nick?"

"I think I fucked up," he said. He took her by the upper arms and gently moved her a step or two away, then held up both hands for her to wait. Slowly he reached for the button on his trousers. Undid it and the zipper, and let them fall to his knees. He twisted a little and pointed down, at his thigh, and as her confused gaze followed his finger she let out a ragged, horrified gasp.

"Oh fuck," she breathed, then signed it.

He nodded dismally. On his leg was a six-inch long furrow that stretched from the hem of his boxer briefs almost to his knee. Blood was crusted around it, and the skin was tight and shiny and red. Small streaks of crimson, like tendrils of poison, moved out from the wound in a frightening corona.

"I think when I was trying to pull my gun I shot myself. Can you believe it? How fucking stupid. I didn't even realized it hurt, because of the pain in my eye, and I guess I didn't notice it yesterday. I went to pee just now and when I dropped my pants the cloth hit it and it hurt like a motherfucker."

She swallowed around a throat gone thick. "That must've been—when I shot him—the shotgun seemed—really fucking loud. Louder than—just one shotgun. We must've fired—at the same time." Her signs were jerky and disjointed, and she couldn't look away from his leg. Clearly it had to be cleaned. He had to have antibiotics. Those streaks meant blood poisoning, and if the bullet had somehow lodged in there…

"Okay," she said. She took a deep breath and looked up into his frightened face. "It's going to be okay. We'll get it cleaned up, and I'll make that run into town and get you some antibiotics and you'll be fine." She spun in a slow circle to study the room, then waved him toward the kitchen island. "Let me clean it first, then you can get up there. Lots of light, and a good height. I need supplies."

She took off before he could say anything, and he hobbled to the island to wait for her. His leg was badly infected, he knew that much, and he thought he might be running a fever from it. He could read on her face how bad it looked, and how scared she was, but he'd also spent the last several days learning how incredibly competent she was when it seemed like shit was about to hit the fan. Of all the people to be stuck with during the apocalypse with a raging infection, he'd choose her.

She reappeared from the bathroom and dumped what she'd scrounged onto the kitchen counter. There was a large first aid kit and what looked like a medical bag, in addition to a stack of towels and some cleaning supplies.

"My wife was a doctor," she said. "I guess I never mentioned that. We met when I was in culinary school and she was finishing her residency in New York. A pan fell off a high shelf onto my head, and I had to go to the ER. She was my doctor."

She sprayed down the island with bleach-laced cleaner and let it sit.

"Then I went back a few weeks later because I burned myself on a hot pan. By my third visit, this time from a cut, we were starting to become friends. I _accidentally_ ran into her later that night and our first date was pie at an all night diner."

His mouth quirked at one corner. "Are you really that accident prone, or was it on purpose to cozy up to the cute doctor?"

She shrugged and wiped the counter with a paper towel. "I used to be. I was always…rushing. Like I thought being fast meant being better. Since then I've learned to take my time."

"That's good," he said. "I like to take my time too." He paused. Frowned. "I've never actually shot myself before."

"I didn't think so. You've always struck me as a very steady individual." She turned away to open the medical bag and began sorting through the contents. "Oh, there's lots of good shit in here. A suture kit, though I hope to hell we won't need that. Gloves. Masks."

Finally she turned to him again with a reassuring smile. "I'll put some towels down so you aren't on the cold counter. Can you get up by yourself, or…?"

"I think I can make it," he said, dryly.

"Okay then, touchy." She spread out a few towels, and grabbed a pillow from the couch for his head. As he'd said, he was able to hop up with no problems, and she stopped him before he could lie down.

"Let me look at it first, so we know what…needs to be done." She put on a mask and a pair of gloves, and leaned in close. She could feel the heat radiating off his skin now; how had she not noticed it earlier when she'd kept him from falling? Too worried about gravity, she supposed.

The whole area was swollen, so it was hard to tell what was what, but at the end there seemed to be a decided bulge. The bullet, maybe. If it stayed in there it could turn septic, and that would most certainly kill him in their current situation.

Not an option worth considering.

She looked up at him, brilliant eyes steady above the mask. "This is going to hurt," she signed.

He nodded. "I know. I'm ready."

She took a deep breath and rested her fingers lightly on either side of the lump. Squeezed. He hissed through his teeth, but when she flicked her eyes up to check on him, he just nodded for her to continue. She pressed harder. Something was definitely moving under there, but she wasn't going to be able to just squeeze it out like a splinter. There was too much swelling.

"Okay," she said. She stepped back and stripped off the gloves and mask. "I think that's the bullet."

He let out a shaking breath. He was looking a little green around the gills again; she passed him a large mixing bowl just in case. "It's got to come out, right?" he said. "It'll go septic if it stays."

"Exactly what I was thinking." She turned away to check the medical bag again, though she knew what was in it. "Doc Soames has a scalpel in here," she signed. She pulled a glass vial from the bag. "And this, I'm pretty sure, is local anesthetic."

"You're pretty sure? How sure is that?" He looked remarkably calm, all things considered, and she appreciated that about him.

She read the label again and chewed on her lower lip. "Like, ninety-eight percent. More, really, but I want to build in a margin for error."

"Kai. I mean this as kindly as possible. But I don't think there _is_ margin for error here!" The calm facade cracked a bit, and she couldn't really blame him. He had a baker, not a surgeon, and for the second time in as many days he was putting his life in her hands.

"It is. An anesthetic. It's part of the suture kit, so what else would it be? I'll inject a bit in around the area, then cut the bullet free. It's right there near the surface; I'll just be cutting skin. No muscle or anything like that."

"And then you'll clean it."

"Yes. With hydrogen peroxide and saline."

He gave a slow nod. "Do you think it needs stitches?"

"I guess we'll see how removing the bullet goes."

Their eyes met. His was fever-bright, but hers were steady. That same steel he'd seen yesterday, even when she'd seemed on the verge of panic. She'd hacked her hair off in the bathroom but then pulled herself together to help with Jane. She'd shot Ray Booth to save his life when he'd only managed to shoot himself. Then she'd cleaned up his eye and gotten them both safely here, while also remembering to stop to check on the dogs and cats at the pound.

"You're a steely-eyed missile man," he said. He poked her in the sternum. "Heard that in a movie once."

" _Apollo 13_."

"No, not that one. Never saw it."

She frowned. Thought about it. " _The Martian_?"

"That's it!" He pointed at her. "Potatoes on Mars."

She gave a brief nod. "You better fucking believe it. Now lie down on your side, bum leg up. I'm going to limit the local to around where I'll be cutting. If you can feel it once I start, tell me and I'll add some more."

He did as he was told while she replaced the mask and gloves. She filled the syringe and added little dots of anesthetic, just like she'd seen on _Dr. Pimple Popper_ —which, all things considered, was maybe not her best medical reference in this situation, but surely had to be better than _Grey's Anatomy_. At least it wasn't fiction.

She kept at it until she poked the spot with the needle and he gave her a thumbs up. Her first small cut, across the top of the bump, produced blood and enough pus to gross them both out.

"That has to be good, though," she signed one-handed. "Better to get it out."

He gave another thumbs up, this one sort of shaky, and offered a weak smile.

She used a thin pair of forceps to dig the bullet out, and as she'd guessed, it was close to the surface. She could tell at one point she was hurting him, but he stayed still and stoic until she pulled the little plug of metal free.

"Got it!" She dropped it into a bowl and swapped the surgical tools for the squeeze bottle and gauze.

Cleaning the wound took longer, and she had to stop several times for him to catch his breath. It hurt, a lot, and she could hear his teeth grinding as she worked. Finally she had it cleaned to her satisfaction, though it looked red and raw and jagged, like an ugly grin filled with picket teeth.

She applied a bandage, then wrapped gauze around his entire thigh to hold it in place. Finally she helped him sit up, and once she'd washed the bit of bullet, handed him the bowl.

"There it is," she said. "Little fucker."

He poked it with one finger and his face moved in a rueful grimace. "Can't believe something this small might kill me."

"Hey." She jabbed him in the shoulder to make sure she had his full attention. "Fuck that shit. Do you think I'd let you die? It's a stupid infection. You'll be fine."

His mouth quirked on one side. "Yeah?"

"Yes. I promise."

He looked at her then, and a thousand things he wanted to say flashed through his mind, but somehow even in his pain-addled, fever-dazed state he managed to keep them in. _You're so kind and beautiful and tough and ferocious and whatever your secret is you can tell me because I trust you. I trust you past the end of the world, because here we are standing at the edge of it, and you're the person I'm taking with me into whatever's beyond that. Not because you're the only other person_ here _, but because you're_ you _, and when the map says_ Here There Be Monsters _, I know you'll fight them all, and I wanna be the one to fight them with you._

"I believe you," he said, and that was all.

* * *

Kai had hoped her run to town could wait till morning, but as afternoon turned into evening his fever spiked despite the Tylenol, and he couldn't hold anything down. He was tucked into bed, stripped down to his shorts, and whenever she left and came back he'd kicked the covers off and was shivering again.

"It can wait," he signed, shaking with chills, when she told him her plans.

"Clearly it can't. I have to get you antibiotics and something more hydrating than just water. I'm not letting you die because I was afraid of the dark."

 _Not the dark_ , he thought, _but what might lurk in it. And it's a real fear._ But he only gave a weary nod and told her to be careful.

"I will," she said. "I won't be gone long. Try to stay in bed if you can, because I don't want you falling and smacking your head. Drink something, too. And—don't worry. I'll be fine."

He managed a weak smile and a thumbs up. "Take the shotgun."

"Planning on it." She hesitated. She didn't want to leave him, and not just because it was getting dark. Finally she rested a hand on his cheek and bent to kiss his burning forehead. "Get some rest. I'll be back soon," she signed with one hand.

He grabbed her hand before she could pull away and pressed his lips to the center of her palm. It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he only held on a moment or two before he released her with another smile and a little wave.

She closed the bedroom door behind her and stopped at the front door to check the shotgun. She'd cleaned it since the encounter with Booth yesterday, and it was loaded. She pocketed some more ammo, slung the gun over her shoulder, and headed to the car.

The town was about twenty minutes away, smaller than Shoyo but still big enough to have all the basics. The drive there was uneventful: street lights popped on as it got darker, all the traffic lights still worked, and while most homes were dark, stores were lit up like they'd been before everything went to hell.

Her first stop was a clothing store. There was a washer and dryer at the cabin, but neither of them had a lot of clothes and she didn't want to be doing laundry all day. Plus he needed something more comfortable than his usual trousers while his leg healed. She grabbed basics for both of them: socks, underwear, t-shirts; and then sweatpants for him and jeans and shorts for her. She had to guess on some of his sizes, but as long as the pants weren't too short she thought it would be okay. They could come back when he was feeling better to get him more actual wardrobe staples.

Next she hit a grocery store, and luckily it was empty of both customers and employees. She got baking supplies, a variety of broth, and lots of Jell-O. She debated getting perishables, but she knew they wouldn't last much longer, and she could freeze any meat she bought for once Nick could eat again. He'd need the protein to regain his strength.

It was eerie in the silent parking lot as she unloaded her cart into the back of the SUV. The light above her head buzzed. An errant breeze scattered a pile of trash across the asphalt. There were a few cars parked here and there, but she avoided looking inside them. Either they were empty or they were rolling coffins; she didn't need to know which.

The pharmacy was her last stop, and the one she'd been dreading. Of all places to find full of corpses, a drug store during a flu outbreak seemed like a good bet.

She sat in the car outside the store making a list of what she needed so she could get in and out as quickly as possible: Pedialyte or something like it, Tylenol, gauze and bandages, saline, and, most importantly, antibiotics. She hoped there would be some kind of pharmacists' guide behind the counter so she could look up the best ones to get. She also hoped they weren't all gone, because while most people knew the flu was a virus that couldn't be treated by antibiotics, there were some out there who still clung to the old idea of antibiotics equal cure-all.

She locked the car on her way into the store and pocketed the keys. The shotgun hung over one shoulder, and she rested her fingers on it. Just in case.  
Inside the store it was as quiet as everywhere else, except for the same buzzing lights and the soft whoosh of the AC. An employee lay slumped across a checkout counter. Someone was sprawled out in the cold medicine aisle. Bodies littered the area leading to the pharmacy counter.

She paused and pressed a hand to her nose. The smell wasn't too horrible, probably thanks to the air conditioning, but it wasn't going to be like tiptoeing through the tulips, either. She tried to breathe through her mouth, and keep it shallow, but as she navigated the obstacle course of sprawled limbs, grasping hands, and bloated faces, she felt her heart rate kick up and her breathing deepen.

"They're dead," she whispered. "They can't hurt you. They're dead." That mantra kept her going until she reached the pharmacy proper. She had to boost herself over the counter, and she only saw the dead pharmacist as she dropped to the other side.

"Fuck!" she cried. She twisted to avoid landing on the body and instead her ass smacked the linoleum hard enough to make her teeth clamp together. Luckily she didn't bite her tongue, but she was sure there'd be a bruised tailbone in her future.

But she hadn't landed on him, and at the moment that was all she cared about.

She sat on the floor, eyes fixed on the corpse, as she struggled to regain her breath. Finally she pushed to her feet and wiped her hands on her jeans.

"Sorry for almost smushing you. Next time say something, okay?" She frowned. "Or, actually, please don't. That probably would've been worse."

 _Keep it together, d'Arnaud_ , she told herself. _Focus_.

She cast around for something other than a computer—they required login codes she obviously didn't have—and finally found a thick tome under the sign _Orange Book goes HERE_. Okay, she'd make sure to put it back.

Except it wasn't super helpful, because it just was a giant list of drugs. She rolled her eyes. Surely she'd taken enough antibiotics over the course of her life to figure this out. As long as Nick wasn't allergic. Why the fuck hadn't she asked him about that?

She flipped the book shut and went for the shelves of medication. It didn't take long to find amoxicillin, and after thinking it over, she grabbed the entire bottle. Obviously he wouldn't take this much, but it never hurt to have a supply for the future. There were plenty of other bottles left on the shelf if anyone came along after her. She also pocketed a thick stack of Z-Paks, because that was what Sarah had prescribed for Kai's second and third ER trips, the burn and the cut. They could start with this, and then switch to the other if it wasn't working.

She climbed back over the counter and started to work her way through the store collecting the other items on her list. First she grabbed a basket and tossed in several candy bars and packs of gum and mints. On the pain killer aisle there was a body slumped directly in front of what she needed, and she stood for a moment, undecided. They had Tylenol…just not a big bottle. She wanted to make sure there was plenty, in case Nick's fever lasted a while.

Finally she shuffled closer. Swallowed around the lump in her throat. And reached toward the bottle she needed. The smell this close was nauseating, and she realized that what she'd thought was the buzzing of fluorescents was actually flies. So goddamn many flies.

She jerked back, knocking into the shelf as she did, and the corpse slid toward her. Maggots crawled where its eyes should be, and what remained of its face was frozen in a rictus of pain and horror.

Kai let out a little cry and skipped away, barely avoiding the body's slow drag to the floor. A cloud of flies rose and some kind of fluid created a puddle on the linoleum.

"I'm sorry!" she gasped. "I'm so sorry!"

She sprinted from the aisle and grabbed the rest of what she needed at record speed. Luckily the other aisles were empty, but over the sound of her own panting she could still hear those goddamn flies, _buzz buzz_ , and she thought, maybe, something else. A scuttling. Of small animals, probably, but her overwrought brain imagined those blackened fingers clawing at the floor, clawing and scratching and _crawling_.

There was something in here with her, she could feel it. Hiding in the dark. Watching her. It laughed and cavorted and oozed from the shadows with a sentient malevolence. She had to get the fuck out of here, she had to get out before it found her, before it touched her, because if it touched her that would be it she would lose her mind and Nick would die and—!

She burst out onto the sidewalk and ran for the car. The door wouldn't open, why the fuck wouldn't it open?!

It was locked. She fumbled in her pocket for the keys and managed to hit the button despite nearly swooning from fear. She could taste it in the back of her throat, an acrid burn that tried to choke her.

She threw the basket and the shotgun into the passenger seat, locked the doors, and hit the ignition button. The hybrid's electric engine always started first, and it was so quiet that for a second she thought it wouldn't start at all, but then the gas engine rumbled to life and she sobbed in relief. She clamped shaking hands around the wheel and tried to breathe.

Her reflection stared back at her from the rearview mirror, wild-eyed and pale. She rubbed the tears off her cheeks, and it was as she reached to adjust the mirror she noticed it staring back at her from across the parking lot.

She twisted in the seat to look over her shoulder, and sure enough. A fucking coyote. Just one. Its golden eyes reflected the streetlight and its gaze was too knowing, too sentient.

_The coyotes are his._

She didn't need to stick around for an interview. Throwing the car into gear, she backed out of the parking place and streaked out of the lot. She needed to get back to Nick. They were more vulnerable separated, and he was sick and weak.

As she drove the night seemed to fold itself around her. A fog rolled in off the lake and she had to slow down to a creep on the narrow, unfamiliar roads. The streetlights that had guided her into town seemed to have gone out, and the only illumination came from her own headlights.

"Fuck!" she cried and slammed on the brakes. The basket of drug store stuff slid off the seat and into the floorboard. She grabbed the shotgun to keep it steady and squinted out into the fog where a lone coyote stood in the middle of the road, staring at her like he'd been there waiting just for her.

As she watched several others trotted out of the mist to form a little semi-circle around the original one. The stood silent as ghosts, and Kai shivered. Weren't coyotes known to be loud? They "talked" to each other as they hunted, she thought. So did that mean they weren't hunting now? Just…watching?

They would be kind of cute if they weren't so fucking creepy. She rested her hand on the shotgun, but she knew she could never shoot them. They looked too much like dogs.

_The coyotes are his._

"I know! I know that. Doesn't mean I have to kill them, does it?!" She tapped the horn and they didn't move. She leaned on it, a long blast, and a couple of them jumped a little, but none of them ran away. The lead one just blinked, long and slow.

"I'm sorry," she said with a scowl, "am I _boring_ you, Wile E?"

She grabbed the shotgun and shoved the door open. Stepped out onto the road and aimed the gun at the leader. "Go on!" she said. "Get! I know who sent you, and I'm not afraid of him."

None of them moved.

"Goddammit." She aimed the gun into the air and squeezed the trigger. The blast was deafening in the close night, and a few of the coyotes scattered. The leader cocked its head like it was curious—or amused.

She strode closer. "I am not your road runner, asshole. Get the fuck out of my way. I'm not afraid of you!" she cried. "Do you hear me!? _I'm not afraid of you_!"

She trained the gun on it again and wondered if she could shoot it after all.

The coyote stood a few moments longer until it finally gave a little chuff. It turned slowly and sauntered off, the others falling in behind it. She didn't move until she heard them in the underbrush along the road, and then she hurried back to the car.

If anything else got in her way she was just going to run the fuck over it, because she had a fear all of this was just a distraction. Delaying tactics to keep her away from the cabin and away from Nick.

Nick was who mattered. He was the important one, the good one, the one with a purpose.

Kai was just the bitch with the gun watching his back. And she wasn't about to let him down.


	9. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Kai both face off against Flagg for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll see what I mean in this chapter about Flagg being a combo of Alexander Skarsgard and Jamey Sheridan: Kai sees him one way, and Nick sees him the other. Hence the disparity in their physical descriptions.

**temporary is my time**  
 **ain't nothin on this world that's mine**  
 **except the will i've found to carry on**  
The Avett Brothers, "Ill With Want"

 **June 29**  
Three days later and she was beginning to despair. His fever raged no matter how much Tylenol she gave him. He was dehydrated, unable to eat and barely able to drink. His eye was healing well, but his leg was still red and inflamed. She kept cleaning it with saline, but it didn't seem to be helping.

Yesterday morning she'd nearly wept when, on a rare break, she'd wandered out into the overgrown yard and almost tripped over a patch of yarrow flowers. A quick (very quick) trip into town during daylight hours and she found calendula at the garden center of a home improvement store. It wasn't the right time of year for goldenrod, and besides that she was allergic to it, so these would have to do.

Back at the cabin she'd combined the plants with honey to make a paste and carefully spread it on a bandage, like butter on toast. She hummed as she did it, an old healing song she remembered from her Grandmère. It wasn't that she believed in witchcraft or spells, but she did believe in her grandmother's results. And a healing song couldn't hurt.

She applied the poultice around midday. His good eye opened as she worked, but she couldn't tell if he saw her or not. Or if he did, whether he recognized her. She smiled and brushed his hair back from his forehead. Still burning. She'd sponge him down later, as they'd both done so often for Jane Baker in her last hours.

Except, of course, these were not Nick's last hours. She'd promised him he wouldn't die, and she never broke her promises. "You're going to be fine," she signed.

"Feel like shit," he signed back, weakly.

"I know. Do you think you can drink something?"

The words seemed to take a long time to penetrate the fog around his brain, but at last he gave a slow nod. She finished with the bandage and hurried back to the kitchen to warm some broth and grab a Pedialyte from the fridge.

He was asleep when she got back, so she set the mug and the bottle on the nightstand and crawled into bed next to him. She'd been sleeping in here because she didn't want to leave him alone. _Sleeping_ was a relative term, because his restlessness kept her up. Mostly she read and wished she'd asked Sarah more questions about medicine.

When he stirred again a few hours later she was ready. She got some more fever medicine down his throat, plus almost half a mug of chicken broth.

"Can't," he signed. "No more."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded and pushed the mug away. She sighed and put it back on the bedside table. Then, just like that, he was gone again. Passed out, fever spiking, mouth open in a silent cry of agony.

She bathed him in cool water and hummed her Grandmère's song. Propped him in the chair while she changed the sweat-soaked sheets, then wrestled him back into bed. Helped him to the bathroom and held his hair while he wretched up the feeble bit of broth.

The sun went down and the room filled with shadows. She passed through the cabin to make sure the doors and windows were locked (something she did every night now, since the coyotes on the road) and switched on a few lamps as she went by.

Somehow she remembered to eat, a peanut butter sandwich with the last of her bread and a can of vegetable soup. A weird combo, but none of it tasted like anything anyway. She just needed the calories to keep going.

She had no tears. Not anymore. They were useless, a waste of time and energy. She replaced his bandage with a fresh one, and it seemed maybe, maybe the wound looked a little less red. Calmer. She added her honey poultice to the new bandage and murmured the song. He didn't wake this time. She pressed the cloth to his forehead and closed her eyes. Her chin fell to her chest and she trembled.

"You're not going to die," she signed. "I'm not going to let you."

Outside she heard the call of an owl amidst the cry of summertime insects. "Please," she said, "God or whoever might be listening, help me. I made a promise. Please."

Feeling almost feverish herself with pure exhaustion, she rounded the bed and collapsed next to him. Suddenly, like sinking into water, she fell into a deep, restless sleep.

She dreamt again, as always, of the cornfield. Searching for Nick. Always fucking _searching_. This time his voice was faint and weak; the crows' raucous cries were far louder. She tried to see over the corn, but of course it was too tall.

The sky above rumbled its ominous warning and she felt like sobbing with frustration.

A crow flew overhead. She followed its path with her eyes, even jumped to see above the corn, and in the near distance she saw an entire murder of them circling something, like vultures. Another leap and another glimpse: now and then one would separate from the group and dive.

"Fuck," she breathed. "Oh fuck!" She shoved her way through the corn now, heedless of the leaves' razor-sharp edges. She felt their sting, but it seemed far away, and even the warm trickles of blood that started down her arms and legs were as nothing to her.

Finally she burst through the last row between herself and whatever held the crows so fascinated. It was, as she'd feared, Nick: his long, lean form sprawled on the ground, sick and feverish. Crows swooped and dove; a few of them landed on him; and rats inched in ever closer from the corn.

"Go!" she cried, rushing toward him. "Get! He's not dead! Fuck off!" She waved her arms at the birds and kicked her feet at the rats. "You can't have him! You can't!"

Once they were finally gone—the rats sullenly, like stubborn old men—she dropped down beside Nick and patted across his chest. Wiped the blood from rats' nasty teeth and crows' vicious beaks off his arms and face. He was breathing, and his skin was so hot she was surprised the corn he was lying on didn't start popping.

She tugged his upper half into her lap, cradling his head in her arms and stroking his face. "You're not going to die," she said, low and fierce. "Do you understand me?! I told you that when you were awake, but your eyes weren't open. But I know you can hear me here, and you are not going to die! I always keep my promises, Nick. Always."

His good eyelid fluttered, but otherwise he didn't move. She let out a soul-deep groan of fury and glared up at the sky. The sun was there, big and bright and merciless, even as clouds crept closer.

"You chose him!" she screamed at it. "Didn't you!? Isn't that what Mother Abagail meant?! You chose us both! What's this survival of the fittest bullshit?! You fucking _chose him_ and you're not going to let him die now!"

Silence, and the distant call of birds, was her only answer. Her chin dropped to her chest and she didn't bother to wipe away the tears that ran down her cheeks and dripped onto his forehead.

"Please," she whispered. "Please, don't let him die. He's the good one here. He's the one who deserves it. Not me. Not me."

The day around her darkened, the temperature noticeably chilled, and in her arms Nick shivered. She held him tighter and ignored the rippling sound of someone or something approaching through the corn. Darkness and fear and the force of her fury somehow made flesh.

"Well!" a voice said. He chuckled. "Look what we have here. A real-life _Pietà_. How sweet."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Go away," she said. "We don't need you here."

"Don't you?" he said, voice filled with pity that stung like thorns.

She watched dusty, worn down cowboy boots approach before they stopped and the speaker knelt beside them. Reluctantly, like her neck was on rusted hinges, she raised her head to look at him. Then blinked.

He looked—normal. Blond, blue-eyed, hair a little too long and beard a little too scruffy, but otherwise…like just some guy. Some random guy who'd make a pass at you in a bar or who would come into the restaurant for supper and bitch about the French menu.

"What?" he said. "You were expecting the boogie man?" He gave an easy shrug full of lazy bonhomie. "I'm just a guy, Eden. Or—you go by _Edie_ , right?" He tilted his head back and forth as though thinking it over. "Maybe I'll stick with _Eden_. Brings back some fond memories." He winked at her and pushed himself upright.

"Anyway, from where I'm standing, you really could use somebody's help." He raised his arms and turned in a slow circle. "Hello!?" he called. "Anyone out there? Hey! Dying man here! Hellooo!"

His face scrunched in sympathy and he knelt again. "Nothin', kiddo. Deafening silence." Another brief shrug. "That's just how He operates. Not like me. I'm a man of the people. Really like to get down among the _hoi polloi_. That's the—"

"I know what the _hoi polloi_ are," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm not interested in your sales pitch, either."

"Come on, you haven't even heard it yet! It's a good one, Edie. One of my best, and it's a limited-time offer."

She glared at him, but his grin only widened.

"You gotta ditch the dummy, kid," he said. "He's not long for this world and you've got miles to go before you sleep."

"Do _not_ call him that!" she snarled.

"Okay, okay." He lifted his hands in a placating gesture. "Insensitive of me, I apologize. Edie, listen." He lowered his hand and when his fingers spread there was a black stone cradled in his palm. Somewhere in its depths a red spark glistened, like a winking eye. Somehow the fire trapped inside it just made the whole thing seem colder and more awful, and she looked away.

"I don't make offers like this to just anyone, Edie," he said. His voice turned low, intimate, like a croon. She shut her eyes and rested her cheek on Nick's burning forehead. "Ditch your friend here and come with me. I'll make you a queen over a new Eden, a true Eden. You'll be free. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

"A queen," she said, without opening her eyes or lifting her head. "Whose queen? Yours?"

He made a low, regretful noise. "Alas, no. I already have my queen. You're…ah…not suitable for that position. Not quite Liz the First if you get my drift."

Now she did look at him, an incredulous glare. "You mean because I'm not a virgin?!"

"I'm old-fashioned that way," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Just fuck off, whoever the fuck you are. I'm not letting Nick die, no matter what you're offering."

He sighed and stood again. "I've been rude, Edie, and you're right to call me on it. I never actually introduced myself."

"Let me guess," she said, sweetly. "You're a man of wealth and taste."

He threw back his head and laughed long and loud. She shuddered at the sound. "I do like you, kiddo! Taste, yes; wealth, nah. Man of the people, remember?"

He knelt again, and he was beginning to remind her of a jack-in-the-box. "Name's Flagg. Randall Flagg. That's two L's and two G's, and a whole lotta soul."

"Do you find that this schtick usually works on people?"

"What can I say? I like the soft sell. Look, in that spirit, I'm prepared to negotiate. You're attached to this kid; I get it. We all get attached sometimes. Take me, for example. People keep telling me you're one of hers, but I say no, no. Not my Eden." He leaned in closer; lowered his voice to a whisper. "Not you, Edie. You're mine. And you know exactly why."

He sat back. "Not just you, though! Trashcan Man. Too unstable. Just kill him and get it over with." He waved a dismissive hand. "But I hate waste, don't you? So few humans left on this planet, it seems a shame to burn the ones who could be loyal and devoted and useful."

"I literally have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course you do, my dear. At least the part about you. But we'll play the innocent game if you want. Now, as for my offer: the kid here doesn't die. Doesn't even lose his eye. Not only that! I'll give him what he never had: ears to hear and a voice to speak. All you have to do is walk away." He held out the stone again. "Come with me, be a queen over a new world, and forget the old woman. Forget the deaf-mute. He won't even be a deaf-mute anymore! He won't need you, and neither will she.

"It doesn't have to be this way, Edie," he said, soft and coaxing. "It doesn't have to be such a struggle. You don't have to be afraid anymore, or worried. Just say yes, worship me, and rule."

Nick stirred in her arms and made a quiet sound of distress. His face was scrunched with effort, and as she watched, his good eye opened to pin her with a long, steady glare. It still burned fever-bright, but she knew what she saw there, and it gave her the strength she needed to do what she did next.

She raised her head to meet Flagg's vivid blue eyes. "I don't want any deals," she said. " _Nick_ doesn't want any deals. We don't _want_ you."

"It's not about him, Edie. He's just baggage."

"Fuck off!" she screamed directly into his face. "Go away! Take your crows and your idiotic thunder and your fucking r _ats_ and fuck the fuck off! Oh, and enough with the goddamn coyotes. Your _point_ has been _made_!"

He gave a sorrowful shake of his head and rose to his feet on a long, long sigh. She swallowed back her fear and let her eyes move up, up, up to his face towering high above her. The sky was nearly black, but a single beam of sunlight cracked the cloud cover and fell across her face like a warm caress.

"So it's a _no_ , then?" he said.

"Go away! _No_ to your deal, _no_ to any deal, _no_ to every fucking _deal_!"

He grinned, more a leer, and his teeth flashed blinding white. His eyes seemed to glow red like the spark at the heart of that stone he offered her, but she didn't look away. "Call me when you change your mind," he said. "When they see through you. When they find out what you did. I'll be here, Edie. I'll always be here for you."

She snarled like a wild animal and suddenly he was gone. The air lightened and the dust settled and liquid sunlight poured in golden and soft to replace it. She trembled all over and when she looked down at Nick he'd passed out again. But he seemed calmer somehow. Easier. The groove between his brows wasn't as deep, and she ran her thumb over it to soothe it further. Down the long, straight line of his nose and across the healing cut on his cheek.

"Wake up, Nicky," she said. "Please, wake up."

* * *

Nick had no idea how long he'd been fighting the infection, or how many times he slipped into unconsciousness to find himself in that same Nebraska cornfield. It seemed like weeks of running, always running, trying to stay ahead of the darkness that chased him. He called out for Kai, but her voice was so faint and far away he thought he'd never find her.

He was so tired that the word had lost all meaning. He just wanted to rest. To sit down and let the darkness come, because at this point what was the worst it could do? He'd already lost an eye, and his leg burned like it was stuffed with hot coals. A one-legged, one-eyed deaf mute. It was like something out of a Dickens story.

And so he stopped. He stopped searching for Kai and he stopped trying to outrun the hollow sound of worn-down boot heels. He turned toward the thunder and he dropped to the ground. Pulled his knees up and let his hands dangle between them. He waited.

It didn't take long.

The corn parted and a man strolled into the clearing. That's all he was: a man. He wore dusty jeans and worn cowboy boots and a jean jacket with buttons on it. One was a big yellow smiley face. Nick blinked. He hadn't expected the Dark Man to have a mullet.

"Well there ya are!" he said with a wide, wide grin. He sat down across from Nick and crossed his legs. "Nick Andros. We meet at last. How the hell are ya, buddy?"

Nick lifted a brow and said nothing.

"Silent type, huh? I get it. Pretty sure you can talk here, though." He paused. His blue eyes twinkled with mirth. "Maybe you just don't feel like it. I heard you've been under the weather lately. Not the flu, what a break! But bad enough. Bad enough to do the trick."

His mouth moved in a slow, sardonic smile. "She made me a promise," he said.

"That's true. But women, right? Can you really trust them to keep their promises? They're so…flighty."

Casual misogyny. How gauche. Nick fought the urge to yawn.

"No, no"—he lifted his hands as though conceding a point—"she's different. You're right. Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it."

Nick snorted. "She's hardly Lady MacBeth, and I'm pretty sure she wouldn't like to hear how she's _not like other girls_." His eyes narrowed. "What do they call you, anyway? I don't mean all the stupid nicknames. I mean for real."

He grinned again. "Oh, well, that's easy! Name's Randall Flagg, two L's and two G's. I'd offer to shake your hand, but I have a feeling you'd say no. Then I'd get offended, and you'd be upset when I burned your eyes from your sockets. A whole big thing we can just avoid, don't you think?"

"Sounds like a plan." He let his knees fall so that he mirrored Flagg's posture. "Can you hurt me here?"

"Eh." He wagged his hand in a maybe gesture. "Not directly. But I can do things that would make you want to hurt yourself."

Nick made a low, thoughtful noise. "Is that why you're here?"

"No!" He looked wounded. "Gosh, Nick, no! I'm here because I'd like us to be friends. Good friends. The type of friends who share things." His lips curved in another of those too-wide grins. "Women, maybe."

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Flagg let out a brief, impatient sigh. "I'm talking about Edie, of course. You could have her. No questions asked, no tedious courtship rituals. Just her, all yours."

"I thought you said you wanted to share."

"Ahh, well, that's negotiable. I'm not so much interested in having her in my bed as just _having_ her. And you, of course."

He leaned closer. Around them the air chilled, and the day darkened. Nick pretended not to notice and didn't take his eyes from Flagg's face. "She is a stubborn woman, Nick. I know the type. You have to _listen_ to them, all the time, to even have a chance of getting into their panties. It's exhausting. I'm offering you a shortcut. Everything you want, without all the work."

Nick frowned. Shifted on the hard ground and took a moment to enjoy the sound of the wind in the stalks. Finally he lifted his hands in a shrug. "Nah," he said.

Flagg sat back, stung. " _Nah_? That's what you have to say to me?! Just _nah_?!"

He scrubbed a hand back through his hair and huffed out a laugh. "You really think I want her like that? Some kind of weird-ass slave? All meek and cowed and quiet?" He shook his head in amused disbelief. "She's named after the fucking ocean, and you're offering me a goddamn puddle. So, yeah. Nah."

Flagg stared at him, and for a moment his eyes flared red and his entire face seemed to contort and change into something horrific, so terrible that Nick's mind blanked, but then his expression stilled and he burst out laughing. "Oh, Nick!" He wagged his finger at him like he would at a naughty child. "You're right! What was I thinking? What's the point of wasting all that money on the pure bred filly if you just break her spirit?!"

Nick wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Not exactly what I meant, but sure."

"Okay, all right, let's get down to brass tacks, you and me." Flagg pushed to his feet and glared down at Nick from what seemed like much too far away. "I want to place you high in my council, Nicholas. I want your voice to be my voice. All those people, the ones like Ray Booth and Billy Warner, will cower at the sound of it. They will beg you for mercy and you will decide if they are worthy of it. If you want her at your side you can have her, on whatever terms you want. You can have your voice, your ears, and both your eyes. The power, the woman, and everything you've ever wanted."

Nick craned his head back to see Flagg's face. His eyes burned and crows circled and cawed overhead. The sky was nearly pitch black. "What do I have to do?" he said. "Sign on the dotted line?"

"Don't be silly. I'm a laid-back kinda demigod. Your word is good enough for me. Your word that you'll put no one else before me. That you'll fall to your knees and worship me. That you'll devote yourself to me and me alone. Such a tiny request for so much in return."

Nick swallowed hard. The ground shook beneath him and he nearly toppled when he tried to stand. Mother Abagail would want him to say no. Kai would say no, laugh and throw his offer back in his face like so much bullshit.

"She's not who you think she is!" Flagg said. He had to shout to be heard over the sudden howl of the wind.

"I know who she is," he said with a scowl.

"Do you?" He smirked and spread his hands like a magician revealing his trick. "So she's told you, then? Her big, bad secret?"

Nick clenched his hands so hard his nails bit into his palms. The pain grounded him. He shoved his hair back where the wind whipped it into his eyes and shook his head. "My answer is no. I don't want power, I don't want her—not the way you're offering her—and I have my voice. Rudy Sparkman gave it to me, and it would take someone a whole lot bigger and badder than you to take it away."

He turned and pushed his way into the corn despite the tremors and the gale and the lightning that threatened to split the sky in two. He was done here. He had to find Kai, and he had to wake the fuck up, because she had a promise to keep.

"Nick!" Flagg cried from behind him. "I'll be here when you change your mind. Ask her! Ask her what she did!"

Nick didn't turn. He reached back, lifted his middle finger, and held it steady until he was swallowed by the corn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to be very clear that Nick has no desire to be anything other than who he is. Flagg is making an offer he THINKS Nick will accept, that he THINKS Kai will accept on Nick's behalf, but he doesn't understand that not everyone's desires are as base as his, or that not everyone is unhappy with who they are. Evil assumes that everyone shares its same petty smallness, and part of resisting it is proving that you're bigger than it is—something that all of Mother Abagail's people are able to do when tempted, but Flagg's ppl aren't. I say this bc I don't want y'all to think I'm playing to the "all disabled ppl secretly wish they were abled" trope, bc I'm not.


	10. The Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick wakes up.

**the shape that i'm in now**  
 **your shape in the doorway**  
 **make your good love known to me**  
 **or just tell me about your day**  
Hozier, "As It Was"

 **June 30 (the wee hours)**  
Kai woke from the dream with a jerk. She sat for a second panting like a caged animal, then shot out of bed and into the bathroom, where she threw up every bite of dinner she'd eaten. With a soft moan she sank down next to the toilet and cradled her head in her hands. What if she'd made the wrong choice? There was no doubt that Flagg was the bad guy and Mother Abagail the good, but what good was being on the right side…without Nick?

Kai didn't know if she was a good person or not. She knew she preferred to love rather than to hate, that she abhorred violence, and that her tolerance for intolerance was nonexistent, but weren't those just basic hurdles one had to clear to be a civilized member of society?

But she did know Nick, and she knew that whatever doubts she had about her own character, she had none about his. They hadn't known each other more than a week, but in that time they'd been through a lot, and there had been plenty of chances to see the type of person he was.

"A better man than you, d'Arnaud, and he still needs your help," she muttered to herself. She pushed herself up from the floor with a grunt. Stopped at the sink to wash out her mouth and splash cool water on her face. She wet a washcloth for Nick, too, and went back to the bedroom.

There was a nightlight in one corner of the room that she kept on all night. It gave enough light to judge his breathing and to keep her from tripping over anything on her way to the bathroom, but not enough to really see. She stood for a moment in the semi-dark. The house itself was quiet, but the owl that lived in the surrounding woods seemed to be having some sort of owl hootenanny. She grinned at her own stupid joke and shook herself awake (she'd almost dozed off standing there listening to the ruckus).

When she reached for Nick, a hand rose from the dark and grabbed her wrist. She froze, heart hammering—not with fear, but with hope—and turned on the lamp with her free hand. She looked down at him, eyes wide, and he glared back with a face scrunched against the sudden onslaught of brightness.

He let go of her with a rough sigh. "Kai…?" His movements were sluggish, weak, but it was the first time in three days he'd been truly coherent.

She gave a sob of relief. Now, in the light, she could see that he was drenched with sweat. "Yeah, Nick, it's me. Don't move. Hang on." She touched his cheek, then his forehead, and found his skin to be cool and damp. His fever had broken.

"What happened? I dreamt…about him. I couldn't—find you."

"You shot yourself, remember?"

He frowned. "In the eye?"

"No, that really would've been something. The leg."

He sucked in a rough breath through clenched teeth as he tried to move it. "Oh yeah."

"It got infected. You've been out a few days."

"How long?" He struggled a moment. "Help me sit up."

"Okay, slow down, you're weak. You couldn't keep anything down, so you're hungry and dehydrated. I'll help you up, then I'm going to get you something to drink." She wrapped her arms around his too-thin form and helped him sit up, then held him while she adjusted the pillows behind him. By the time she got him leaned back against them, he was panting and his face was drawn.

"Fuck," he said.

"Fair assessment. I'll be right back. Do not move, understood?"

He just nodded and closed his good eye.

She hurried to the kitchen to grab a bottle of Pedialyte. She debated chicken broth, but decided that could wait. She needed to get fluids into him fast, and she had to make sure they would actually stay in.

She paused in the hallway outside the bedroom and leaned against the wall. Took several deep, steadying breaths. His fever had broken. She needed to check his leg. Get him cleaned up. She wanted to hear about his dream. She should tell him about hers.

He was awake. His fever had broken. Apparently Randall Flagg didn't hold as many cards as he claimed to.

When she got back he was sleeping, but peacefully. She almost let him, but he needed fluids. She climbed up onto the bed beside him and gave him a gentle shake.

"Fell asleep," he signed as his eye fluttered open.

"I know." She shook the bottle, opened it, and handed it to him. He frowned at it.

"Are you kidding?"

"Sarah used to give this to anyone with a stomach bug. It's less sugar than GatorAde and rehydrates better. Or so she always said. Drink up, and if you feel up to it, I'll make you some chicken broth."

"Yes, ma'am." He gave her a brief grin to show he was kidding, and when she lifted a brow at him, he dutifully took a sip. "Not bad," he said.

"Drink as much as you can, but don't rush. Small, slow sips."

He did as she instructed, and after about a quarter of the bottle, he put the lid on and set it aside. "How long?"

"Three days," she said. "When I got back from my run to town that first night, you were out. Fever had spiked and you were delirious. After that you were in and out. Sometimes I'd get the fever down a bit, but then it'd shoot right back up. You'd be awake for an hour, max, then gone again."

"I don't remember any of that." He rubbed his arms with his palms as though suddenly chilled. "I remember dreaming. I was in the corn, and I kept looking for you, but I couldn't find you. There were always coyotes and crows. Rats too, I think. Then…him."

She let out a rough sigh and slumped against the pillows. "Yeah, me too. Did he offer you a deal?"

He gave a slow nod. "He said I could have power and sex. Whatever I wanted. My hearing, my eye back, the ability to speak. He said…he wanted me to be his voice, and that assholes like Ray Booth would _cower before me_." He made a face that eloquently expressed his opinion of that idea.

"And you said no." It wasn't a question.

He looked at her then, his face wan and lined with fatigue, but his eye bright and steady. "So did you."

Her mouth quirked. "How do you know?"

"Because I know you," he said without any hesitation. "You wouldn't have said yes."

She dipped her head and ran a hand through her tangled hair. She needed a shower. "I might have. I was in the corn, and I found you there, passed out. He offered me…you. You, alive and well, with your eye and your ears and your vocal cords. I might—have said yes. But then you…woke up. You looked at me, and I knew—you didn't want it. If I said yes and made you into someone—something—you're not, you never would have forgiven me."

He pondered that a moment. Would he have been angry? Yeah, a bit, because what—she wanted him different? She thought he wanted to be different? It would have been a betrayal, but to be fair—one made in good faith. He ran a hand over his face, careful to avoid his bad eye. " _Never_ is a long time, Kai," he finally said.

"But…?"

"But." He sighed. "I would've been pissed that you sold your soul for me…and that you had so little faith in me."

She snorted. "Nick, you goofy idiot. Who the fuck else on earth would I possibly sell my soul for?"

"Don't say that," he said.

She shrugged. "It's the truth. He started off by telling me to leave you, that you were going to die. He realized real fast that wasn't gonna fly, so he switched tactics."

"His first offer to me wasn't great, either." She cast him a curious look, but he just gave a brief shake of his head. "Not important. I guess he starts with the easiest and most obvious and goes from there. Makes you wonder what he offers the people who accept."

"A stack of Playboys and a bottle of Jergens," she said with a snort.

"That's gross, Kai." But he grinned as he said it. His grin slowly faded and he leaned back against the pillows. "Shit. I'm exhausted."

"You'll have to take it slow for a while," she said. "It's going to take time to get your strength back." Her eyes dropped and she picked at the sheet a moment. "And, you know. It's weird, but I feel like…" Her brows drew together over stormy eyes. "It was hard to say no. No, I didn't want his first offer; I'd never leave you like that; but…the second one…. And I thought, maybe this is the only way. Maybe by saying no I'm condemning Nick to die. Maybe I made the wrong choice." She paused, hands hovering in midair. "That was the worst part."

He gave a slow nod. "He knew what to say to tempt us. I mean—I'm human. Part of me _does_ like the idea of turning the tables on psychotic bullies and bigots. Getting some of my own back. But it felt like…okay, maybe I'd feel like hot shit for a while, but…" He shrugged, restlessly. "The cost seemed too high, in the end."

"A soul is a high price to pay."

Their eyes met. "I'm not sure if I even believe in a soul. _Integrity_ , I guess, is a better word. _Humanity_. I don't know." He frowned and touched her chin when she tried to look away again. "I meant you, Kai. If I'd said yes it would've cost me you, no matter what promises he made."

Her mouth fell open and her eyes went big and bright. "I—that's—why I said no, too. At least—part of why. He kept saying I didn't need you, that you're just baggage, but he was wrong." Her mouth quirked, ruefully. "I realized at some point in the last three days that surviving Captain Trips doesn't mean a whole lot without you. I know that's a lot of pressure to put on you after so short an acquaintance—"

"No, it's not."

"But it's just the way I"—she blinked—"it's not?"

"It's how I feel about it too. I don't believe in God and I don't think I believe in fate or predestination or anything like that, but I do believe in you. You're here. You're real. There's a reason you're the one I was looking for in all of those dreams. I don't really understand any of this, or what the fuck any of it has to do with me, a deaf-mute drifter from Nebraska, but I understand you." He grimaced. "As much as I can, anyway. As much as you'll let me."

"I…" She sat very still for several long heartbeats. Then, "I don't let people know me. As a rule."

His wide mouth curved. "Don't I know it. It's okay. I'm patient." He hesitated, then tugged her closer and he wrapped his arm over her shoulders.

She settled in, cheek resting lightly against his chest, and listened to the steady sound of his heart. How much had changed in the few short days since the last time she'd done this, sitting on Jane Baker's bathroom floor. She felt like they'd been through fire and had come out of it more or less intact, and steadier and more sure of each other than before.

"I'm glad you're not dead," she said. "And that we both said no."

He snorted. "Shit me too. But I never doubted you. You made me a promise."

"So I did," she said with a wry tilt to her mouth. "I always keep my promises."

"That's my girl," he said.

He felt her tense against him, and he wondered if he'd made a major blunder. He hadn't meant it…quite like it came across. But he felt if he tried to explain he'd just fuck it up worse. He wasn't _claiming_ her, or even trying to say that she was—or they were—it was just a turn of phrase! And—a little bit true, because after all hadn't they just said how they were in this together?

"Apocalypse buddy," he said, and she relaxed.

"Right. End-of-the-world friend."

He winced. Not exactly what he meant either, but if it kept her from clamming up again, okay. It would do. Baby steps.

They sat together for a while in silence, just enjoying the closeness and the rare moment of peace.

"You're a pretty decent human, Nick Andros."

"High praise from such a decent human as you, Kai d'Arnaud."

She shrugged. "Not decent, per se. Just picky."

"Even better," he said, grinning. He dipped his head toward his other armpit and made a face. "That _is_ me I smell. I need a shower. Bad."

She disentangled herself from him with a brief smile. "I think a bath would be a better bet. You might tip over in the shower."

His brow crinkled. "Good point. Okay. Here I go." He tossed the covers back and turned around to throw his legs over the edge of the bed. He struggled to his feet. Took two shuffling steps, then cast a look over his shoulder.

"Need some help?"

He nodded, then wavered on his feet. She hurried around the bed and wrapped an arm around him. "Okay, no need to get dramatic, Aunt Pittypat. No fainting on my watch."

He glowered at her, but he was grateful for her help as she got him into the bathroom, sat him on the closed toilet, and started the water. She gestured for him to stay put and left for a minute. When she got back she had clean clothes and a little silver bell.

"Ring this when you're ready to get out. Do not, under any circumstances, try to get out of that tub by yourself."

"Kai…"

"Nick. I've seen penises before. But I promise I won't look."

His eyes widened in alarm. "Did you—take me to the bathroom?"

"I got you in here, and got you back to bed. You did the parts in the middle all by yourself."

He let out a long breath. "Okay. That's okay then." He held his hands out to her, and she helped him up and over to the tub.

"Don't forget to take the bandage off before you get in. Ring the bell if you need anything," she said, and left him.

Once the door closed he leaned down to carefully peel the bandage away. He grimaced as the tape snagged on his leg hair. The wound was on the same side as his bad eye, so he couldn't really see it, but there was a full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. He limped that way and twisted to get a look.

 _Fuck_ , he thought. It looked better than it had the first time he'd seen it, but it was still gnarly. The swelling had gone down, and it was pink rather than red. Starting to heal, but a long way to go. He frowned down at the bandage. Why the hell did it smell like honey?

He dropped it in the trashcan and carefully stepped into the tub. Sank into the hot water with a hiss of pain as it hit his leg. Whose idiotic idea was this?

_Yours, dumbass. Now sit there and think about what you've done._

He let his head fall back and closed his eyes, and next thing he knew Kai was shaking him awake and the water was cold.

"Sorry," she said. "You've been in here an hour. I was afraid you might drown."

He gave a wary nod. She held a towel out like a curtain, and he slowly, laboriously pushed himself to his feet. Wrapped the towel around his waist and let her help him out. She turned her back while he dried off and got dressed, then helped him to the bed. She had changed the sheets. He gave her a surprised look.

She shrugged. "You got them all sweaty. In you go." She stopped him from pulling the covers up. "I think I should bandage it again. Just for another day or two."

He nodded again and pulled the edge of his shorts up to give her easier access. "Why does it smell like honey?" he said as she spread something on the bandage.

"Oh." She smoothed it into place and added tape. "It is honey. Honey, yarrow, and calendula. Excellent for wound care: antiseptic and helps the new, healthy tissue grow faster. That's why I wanted to re-bandage it. I can't just smear this stuff on you; it would make a hell of a mess on the sheets." She wrapped gauze around his thigh and taped it into place.

"When did you start doing that?"

She tilted her head as she tried to remember. "Yesterday morning, I think? This is the…seventh treatment? Yeah, that's right. It seems to be doing a good job. Your wound looks a lot better than it did." She put away the bandaging supplies and handed him three pills and the bottle of Pedialyte. "Antibiotic, two Tylenol. For the pain, and just in case your fever tries to come back."

He swallowed them and kept the bottle to keep drinking. She pointed out the mug of broth on the nightstand, then walked around the bed to start collecting her things. He frowned over at her.

"You were sleeping here?"

She looked away, her expression guarded. "I was afraid to leave you alone for too long, and when you—were the worst—delirious and…all that…if I fell asleep, you'd wake me up. I wasn't sure you were coherent enough to ring a bell if you needed me."

His frown deepened. He played with the bottle lid. Screwed it back on and set the bottle aside. "I can't believe you did all that for me."

"Nick…" She bit her lip, and there were a thousand things she wanted to say. Instead she just gave a little shrug and a smile. "You'd do the same for me."

"I would," he said. "Except the honey thing. I didn't know that. But all the rest." His lips curved, and her own smile widened.

"Anyway, now that you're awake and have the bell, I'll get out of your way." She held an empty mug and two books, plus a small stack of laundry.

"Stay."

"Oh, well—I was about to take a shower. I can come back after, but I figure you'll probably be asleep. But I'll check on you before I go to bed."

The line formed between his brows and he twisted a hand through his hair. "No, Kai, I mean—stay. Go take your shower, then come back and sleep in here. Don't—go. I mean—unless you want to. If it makes you uncomfortable now that I'm awake."

Her brilliant eyes widened. "No! I mean—no, it—doesn't make me uncomfortable. I want you to be—comfortable. You're the walking wounded here."

His face eased into a soft smile. "I'll be comfortable if you're here. Please stay."

"Yeah," she said with a jerky nod. She dropped her things back onto the bed. "I didn't like the idea of—being all by myself. It's been a really rough few days."

"I'm getting that idea." He waved toward the bathroom. "Go shower. I'll drink my soup, and you can tell me more about it when you get back."

She chuckled. "Sure. If you're awake, I'll talk your other eye out."

"Good," he said. "I'm pretty sure I missed you."

She shot him a grin and disappeared into the bathroom before he could see her blush.

In a move that surprised absolutely no one, he'd fallen asleep by the time she got back. She checked his forehead just to make sure, but the fever wasn't back, and his sleep was peaceful. "Welcome back, Andros. I'm pretty sure I missed you, too."

She curled up next to him, and just before she drifted off, she felt him stir. His arm went around her waist and he pulled her close. She fell asleep with the warmth of his breath against her neck and the rhythm of his heart in sync with hers, and she knew she'd made the right choice when she told Flagg to fuck off. Nick was back, he was going to be okay, and she'd kept her promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of short chapters in a row, but don't worry. Long ones inc!!
> 
> Comments? Lovelies??


	11. Quiet and Noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of an interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone messaged me on my tumblr (binickandros) and asked if other characters would be appearing in this fic. Yes, they will! I've updated the tags to reflect accordingly.
> 
> Feel free to send me messages on said tumblr, or leave comments here. Thanks, y'all. :)

**if i could make days last forever**  
 **if words could make wishes come true**  
 **i'd save every day like a treasure and then**  
 **again i would spend them with you**  
Jim Croce, "Time in a Bottle"

 **Interlude, June 30 - July 17**  
Nick was angry at first, annoyed by how weak he was and pissed off that it was his own clumsiness that had nearly killed him. He sulked and grumbled and avoided her as much as he could in the limited space available, but she was, if nothing else, persistent.

Slowly he came out of his funk, thanks to plentiful food, fresh air, sunshine, and her, always her, her brilliant eyes and her wicked smile. The scent that lingered on her pillow when he woke hours after she was already up. The perpetual scrim of flour that seemed to coat every surface in the kitchen.

She forced him outside, first on slow little rambles to the lakeshore and back, but then on longer and longer walks, until they could rightly be called short hikes. She pointed out plants edible, medicinal, and just plain pretty. She made him wear sunscreen and bug spray and reminded him to drink regularly from the canteen he carried. She laughed at his stupid jokes and never failed to tease him when he needed to lighten up.

As the hot, golden days passed they grew more comfortable with each other. She told him of her life after her father died, how she'd fled back to New Orleans and the Deaf community there had taken her in like no time had passed. When she was ready to move on they shuffled her from city to city, guiding her gently north, to New York City and all the options it presented.

She talked about Sarah with a sort of wistful nostalgia, and he got the sense that while she still loved her and always would, she hadn't been in love with her for a while. Maybe it stopped the moment Sarah had uttered those fateful words about having a deaf kid, but he suspected it had been happening well before that. She'd been comfortable in her life, happy at the restaurant and content to not examine the gritty details of her marriage.

It was a complacency he could appreciate, maybe more so because he'd never experienced it himself. He'd always been restless, ready to move on to the next thing, even on the one or two occasions he'd fancied himself in love. The only time in his life he could remember being content to stay put was…right now. In a dead man's cabin with a woman he'd met in a dream.

He told her anything she wanted to know about his life, including about Rudy, and his anger at what he'd seen as abandonment. About the group home, the early months there when he'd been so furious and alone, then the years learning to read and write and sign, when he'd finally discovered his voice.

He told her the meaning of his name sign.

They took trips into town—daytime only, and never, ever to the pharmacy—and raided clothing stores, the library, book stores, a candy shop that left them both giggling and giddy like children on Halloween. They found puzzles to replace the ones in the cabin they'd already worked and he taught her how to play Sudoku, which she despised and bitched about, and in retaliation she made him do yoga with her every morning.

Which, it turned out, he actually liked. It helped him grow stronger and more flexible, closer to the way he'd been before his encounter with Ray Booth and company on the road outside Shoyo, and sometimes, sitting in the sun and reveling in the silence as he concentrated on his breathing, he felt maybe, from the corner of his good eye (or the bad one, he wasn't sure) a glimmer of what Mother Abagail spoke about in his dreams.

Because the dreams continued, for both of them. Mother Abagail urged them on to Nebraska, but also told them to take the time they needed. Flagg didn't appear again in person, but he was always there, a dark, lurking presence out in the corn, or sometimes along the road. Nick dreamt of that, too: the ribbon of asphalt laid out before him. The sudden, helpless fear of being grabbed from behind. But now when he saw that ring flashing toward him from the dark, behind it was a familiar, leering grin that seemed to stretch too wide.

Some days they spent quietly, perched at either end of the couch, facing each other. Usually they would read, swapping off trashy romance novels as they finished them, and those days were maybe his favorites. She would sit with her knees drawn up, or sometimes with one long leg stretched toward him. He would often rest a hand on her ankle or her shin, and she never stopped him or pulled away. He would use his thumb to stroke the inside of her ankle and every once in a while he would catch her with her eyes closed, basking in the touch like a cat might.

He felt like he'd never grow tired of touching her: an easy caress along her arm; a teasing twitch of her hair; a light hand on her hip as he eased past her in the kitchen or the hall. He knew he'd never grow tired of watching her, her expressive face and graceful body and flying hands. The way her eyes lit up when she was happy and her mouth went soft when she grew more wistful. He loved making her laugh and he got a kick of how excited she became over ladybugs or dragonflies or a pretty sunset.

As the days passed he realized more and more why Flagg's initial offer had been so repugnant to him. It wasn't just the inherent wrongness in owning another person against their will (which was…abhorrently wrong in and of itself), but also it was because of just how much he wanted _her_. All of her, without a single rough edged smoothed for his convenience. He wanted her highs and lows, softness and sharpness, sweetness and ferocity. The intimacy that came with quiet and with noise, with touch and with absence.

She was messy and thoughtful and picky and kind, bossy and generous and whip-smart and funny, a beautiful storm of complexities and riddles, and he loved learning all of it. All of it but whatever lurked behind her eyes sometimes when she spoke of her life before, when she spoke of the years after her parents died. When she spoke of her father. He shoved Flagg's voice ( _Ask her!_ ) out of his mind and concentrated on the moment, because at the end of the world, that was all you could really count on.

Sometimes, he'd later think, the two weeks he'd spent recovering from a beating, an attack, accidentally shooting himself, and the subsequent major infection were the happiest he'd ever been.

 **July 8**  
"Hey." He poked her arm so that she looked at him. "You see that?"

She frowned. "See what?" she signed one-handed, the other hand on the car's steering wheel.

He grinned and pointed toward an approaching billboard. She ducked her head to read it, then fixed him with an astounded stare.

"No!" she said. "No way!"

"Yeah, yes, come on! It'll be fun."

"Do you know how many horny perverts probably stopped in there to have one last wank before kicking off from Captain Trips?!"

He smirked. "Go out with a bang, I guess."

"No."

"Come on!" He jostled her arm. "I'll go in first. If there's a single body in there, we'll leave. I promise." He bent his head to rest at the crook of her elbow so that he could look up into her face.

She glanced down at him with an annoyed sigh. "Goddamn puppy eyes."

"I'll do all the dishes for the next…three days."

She snorted. "You can't stand up long enough to do the damn dishes."

He'd only been back on his feet a few days, and she was right. He tried a different tack. "It's Sunday."

"You haven't blasphemed in weeks," she said, fighting off a smile. Another huff, this one laced with laughter. "Fine. But you go in first. And you do the dishes."

"Yes! Absolutely, dishes for me. I'll pull up a chair if I have to."

"And if you get too tired, we're leaving. You're not using up all your energy wandering around a skeevy sex shop."

"It might not be skeevy. Here, that's the exit."

She took the exit and followed the signs to a low brick building with a giant XXX sign on the roof and a potholed gravel parking lot. She eyed him. "Sure. Doesn't look skeevy at all."

"I'll be right back," he said. "Wait here." He hopped out of the car and limped (though only a little bit now) to the door. Gave it a tug. Then a harder one. Looked back at her and shook his head.

"The things I do for you, Andros," she muttered. She got out and locked the car behind her. "Closed?" she signed.

He nodded. "Seems less likely there'll be dead pervs inside a closed skeevy sex shop, don't you think?" He grabbed one of the large rocks that edged the parking lot and tossed it through the glass door. "Alarm?" he signed with a glance back at her.

She shook her head. "Doesn't seem to be. Thank goodness. Last thing we need is a gang of zombie cops catching us breaking into the sex shop."

"We've been over this, Kai. It's not that kind of apocalypse." He used another rock to clear the glass from around the doorframe, then carefully stepped through to unlock it. "Wait here. I'll check it out just to make sure."

He disappeared inside. She wandered around a little, humming that song from just before it all went to shit. She kicked a piece of gravel so that it pinged off one of the tires.

"Baby, can you dig your man…" she murmured. It was almost like she could hear it—but then she realized she could. It was coming from inside the store. A working radio? That seemed impossible. Stations had stopped broadcasting weeks ago.

Nick appeared in the doorway and beckoned her inside. "All clear. Holy shit, you have got to see this place!"

He held the door for her and she slipped past him into the store, then stopped short. "What the…?" There were probably a dozen big-screen TVs mounted to the wall showing a variety of movies. Between each one was a mannequin modeling a different type of fetish gear: leather harnesses, full-body PVC suits, puppy play getups (she shuddered; that was a big one on her no list), and the old dominatrix standard black corsets, thigh-high boots, and whips.

"Wow," she said. "I had no idea small-town Arkansas was so…niche with its kinks."

"Me neither. This is wild. Hang on, I think the control for all these TVs is back here." He beckoned her to follow him deeper into the shop and ducked behind the counter. A moment later the TVs went off, and so did the music. She let out a sigh of relief.

"This place is actually—really nice," he said with a confused frown. "I was expecting, like you said, something skeevy, but they've got like handmade, custom shit back here. Look at these." He pointed to a display of spreader bars. "They've got blacksmith marks."

She lifted a brow. "You sound like a connoisseur."

"Of sex toys? No, not really. But I worked with a blacksmith in Minnesota a few winters ago, so I know good metalwork when I see it."

"A blacksmith?!" she said. "Like from a medieval village or something?"

He shrugged and she followed him as he wandered down an aisle. He paused to pick up an improbably-sized dildo, study it with a skeptical expression, and replace it on the shelf. "In theory, yeah. Blacksmithing hasn't changed much, really. A lot of towns in ranch country have them. It's not like they make swords and shit. More like horseshoes and repairs."

"That's cool, though. I guess a forge is a good place to spend a Minnesota winter." She frowned at an even more improbably sized dildo. "Not to sound like a prude, but where exactly does this go?"

He stopped next to her and they appraised it with equal care and gravitas. "I guess—some places are stretchier than others?" he finally said.

"I don't think any of my places are quite that stretchy."

"I don't know," he said with a wry smile. "I've seen you do yoga when you aren't dumbing it down for me."

She elbowed him in the stomach and they kept walking. "Maybe I'm not the best judge of that anyway," she said. "Penetrative sex isn't…" She trailed off and waved a hand. "It's not what really does it for me."

He reached out to adjust a bottle of lube with a thoughtful nod. "Women who sleep with women seem to be more aware of that than women who've only been with straight men."

"Hm. Lots of women enjoy penetration, though."

"Well, true. But women who've only been with straight men…" He hesitated. Shrugged. "It's been my experience that unless they spend a lot of time"—he gestured toward a vibrator—"exploring on their own, they don't always realize that penetration isn't necessarily the…best way to get off. It's like…I don't know." He blew out a breath and cut her a quick glance.

"Don't worry about offending me," she said. "I'm interested. Go on."

"I just don't want to sound like I think I know more about women than women do. That's not what I mean."

"I know it's not. It's okay."

He took a moment to gather his thoughts. Then, "I think a lot of women who've only slept with straight men, or only spent time with…cishet depictions of sex think that that's pretty much all there is to it. Maybe some oral, but only as a precursor to vaginal sex. But women who've slept with women, yeah sure they might get off from penetration, but they know there's a whole lot more to it than that." His mouth moved in an awkward grimace. "Or so it seems to me."

She gave him a long look. "Cishet?" she finally said.

A shoulder rose and fell. "I dated a gender studies major once. It was interesting." He held up a pair of nipple clamps, and she shook her head in a definitive _no_. "I kept reading about it after we broke up."

"Oh." She took the clamps from him and returned them to the display. "Well…I think you're probably right. Mostly, anyway. It's hard to make broad generalizations about sex, but." Her head tilted thoughtfully. "That's been my experience, too. And also my experience before the first time I slept with a woman."

"When did you realize you were bi? If that's not too personal."

She laughed. "I think we're well beyond that. I was a teenager, but—I lived in this tiny town in Louisiana, and it wasn't exactly…friendly. So I dated a few boys and lost my virginity to one and wondered if that's all sex was. What was the big fucking deal? People were willing to destroy their entire lives just for that?" She shrugged. "It didn't make sense."

"Until…?"

"Until the first time I was with a girl." She blushed a little. "After my dad died and I went to New Orleans. She taught me…" She blew out a long breath. "A lot. Sex with men was better after that."

"See?" he said with half a smile. "Like I said."

"Nick Andros, giving Dr. Ruth a run for her money." She held up a truly tacky red negligee, and he gave her a thumbs down. "No? Come on. I could tease my hair and everything. It'd be a look."

He took it from her, as she'd done with him and the nipple clamps, and hung it back on the rack.

"But nipple clamps are okay?"

He shook his head. "Not really into pain."

She pointed to one of the harness-clad mannequins. "What about leather?"

"Not that either. It just seems impractical."

"I always thought so too. Though I do like a good corset. Just not a leather one." She flipped through a rack of DVDs, but all the titles made her roll her eyes. "How about you? When did your great bisexual awakening arrive?"

He frowned a little and straightened the DVD display she'd left askew. "I don't know. I lost my virginity when I was fifteen to a much older woman who I think thought of me as a sort of pet. Not like"—he gestured toward the puppy play mannequin—"but…someone cute and amusing. And moldable."

Her mouth opened. Closed again. "Nick, that's—"

"I know. But I didn't really think of it like that at the time. But anyway then sometime around like seventeen or eighteen I watched _My Own Private Idaho_ and my whole life changed."

"It was the _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ movie for me."

He made a face. "The show was so much better."

"We're not talking about quality here, bud."

He acknowledged that with a brief tilt of his head.

"So you think straight women not enjoying sex is because of men?" she said as they wandered down another aisle.

His mouth quirked. "Why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to? Men, the patriarchy, bizarre Puritanical American values—take your pick."

"All true, but sex positive feminism has plenty of pitfalls of its own. A guy on Tinder once told a friend of mine if she didn't send him nudes she was being a bad feminist, because real feminists embrace their sexuality and find nudity empowering."

"Christ, what a tool. I guess it's a damned if you do, damned if you don't situation."

"It always is," she said with a sweet, poisonous smile, "for women."

"Pretty shitty."

"It is. But I can't imagine it's easy out there for a brown-skinned, bisexual deaf mute kid with a leather daddy kink."

His good eye went wide. "I do not have a—"

"Just checking!" She tried to smother her laughter and failed. "I'm just trying to figure out what you're into, that's all."

He huffed, but he wasn't actually offended. "Right. What's it to you anyway?"

She cocked her head to the side in a challenging sort of way. "Curiosity, I guess."

"You know what they say about curiosity and cats."

"Curiosity killed the cat." Her lips curved. "But satisfaction brought it back."

"Exactly," he said, and smiled so that his dimples appeared. He took a moment to select a feather off a colorful display of them and stepped closer.

She eyed him with suspicion. "I hate to be tickled."

"Relax. No tickles, I promise." He ran his fingers through her hair, separating a chunk of it into sections, and began to braid the feather into it. When he was done he stroked the pad of his thumb around the curve of her ear and down the side of her neck. She shivered.

"There," he said. "A souvenir of our field trip to the weirdly kinky sex store."

"And here I thought we'd picked out the dick-shaped twinkle lights."

"We can get those too," he said with a grin.

"You spoil me, Nick, you really do."

"Nah, you got me the giant teddy bear at the candy store. Dick-shaped twinkle lights are the least I can do."

They were grinning when their eyes met, but her expression changed. Turned inward and thoughtful. "Do you ever wonder what it would've been like if we'd met before all this?"

"I thought we weren't supposed to do that."

She gave a quick shake of her head. "Right. We aren't."

"You've been married the last five years."

"True."

"And five years ago I was kind of a prick."

She made a face. "So what's changed?"

He threw a dick-shaped keychain at her, but she dodged it, giggling. "I'm kidding. I can't imagine you were ever a prick."

"I was. An arrogant prick with a chip on his shoulder. But I grew up, and I think now…" He trailed off, and she cast him a questioning look. "Now I'm more the type of person a woman like you would want to spend time with."

"A woman like me. Hmm." She glanced over her shoulder, toward the front of the store, and when she looked back at him he felt something shift between them, like a curtain settling into place. "We should get going. Your limp's getting worse."

Internally he sighed. He'd crossed some invisible tripwire that sent her running. "It's fine. Barely hurts."

"Yep. That's why you just winced when you shifted your weight."

"I did not—" He did it again and grimaced. "Yeah, okay, it hurts a little bit, but I swear I'm fine."

"Good. Then you'll be able to do the dishes when we get back—since that is what you promised to get me in here." She turned to go, but he caught her arm to stop her.

"Kai—what just happened?"

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He thrust his hands out in a gesture of frustration. "You know exactly what I mean. We were talking, having a good time, and suddenly you disappeared."

"I'm right here," she said. At his look she rubbed a hand over her face and fought back a sigh. "I just think we need to be careful, that's all. We've barely known each other two weeks and in that time we've been through a lifetime of shit. It's easy to mistake—relief—at being alive, or—that adrenaline high—for…something that isn't there."

He shook his head as she went on, and when her hands fell back to her sides his mouth moved in a slow, rueful smile. She could be maddening and contradictory and obstinate, and while normally it was part of why he was so crazy about her (yes, even the stubbornness), that particular explanation didn't pass any sort of smell test. "Bullshit."

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Bull. Shit. You're not a coward, Kai. Stop acting like one." He brushed past her and half-limped, half-stomped to the door. Stopped to yank a pack of penis-shaped twinkle lights off the rack and kept going. She had the keys, and the car was locked, but she wouldn't be surprised if he tried to walk back out of sheer stubbornness.

She followed him slowly, dragging her feet as she went. No, she wasn't a coward. Not usually. She'd screamed in Flagg's face even as the fear cramped her stomach and chilled her blood. But this thing with Nick (whatever it was) was different, and part of her would rather face a thousand Randall Flaggs at his scariest than one Nick Andros on an average "I'm so goddamn considerate it's gross" Tuesday.

"Never should've said yes to the sex store, dumbass," she muttered to herself.

Too late now. The damage was most definitely done.

* * *

Things had been tense between them all afternoon. She'd retreated to the bedroom with a book as soon as they got back, then emerged a few hours later to make dinner. He did the dishes. She took a long bath. They'd barely said three words to each other, and it was making him nuts.

He wandered out onto the back deck to find her in one of the Adirondack chairs, a mug of peppermint tea cupped in her hands, watching the sun set over the lake. When she saw him she used her foot to nudge the other chair his way.

"Nice night," he signed as he sat.

She just nodded and sipped her tea. The scent of citronella floated from the candle she had lit to keep the mosquitos away. The flame danced in the breeze and overhead the sky put on a show. He kept casting her looks from the corner of his eye, but she just watched the sunset, expression mild. Finally he let out a silent sigh.

"Kai, look, about earlier—"

She set her tea aside and held up a hand to stop him. "You were right."

His hands fell to his lap in astonishment. "I what?"

"Don't let it go to your head," she said with a brief quirk of her lips. "I just mean—you were right about me being afraid, and blocking you out. I am afraid."

"Of me? I told you—"

"No, not—not that you're dangerous or something." She sighed and pushed to her feet. Wandered toward the edge of the deck and turned back to face him. "I thought you were going to die. Not—completely. I hadn't resigned myself to the idea. But…it was a definite possibility. You were so fucking sick, and you weren't getting better no matter what I did."

He stood and took a few careful steps closer. "But I did get better. I didn't die. I'm not planning on dying any time soon."

"Well no shit, Nicholas, neither am I!" She threw her arms out in an encompassing gesture. "I don't think anyone who died of Captain Trips was planning for that, either."

"Okay, okay. You're right." He scrubbed the hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, okay?! I'm sorry I fucking shot myself and didn't even realize it and then nearly fucking died. It wasn't exactly part of my life plan."

She could tell he wasn't mad at her, so she let him rant.

"Ray Booth tried hard enough to kill me; I didn't have to help him out! What if you hadn't been there? Would I have been able to get the gun out in time?! Would he have finished what he started out on that road? I don't know! I don't like thinking about it."

He drew in a long, shaking breath. "I don't know what would have happened to me if you hadn't been there, either during the whole thing or after, when I was sick from it. If you think that makes me…weirdly attached to you…like some sort of Florence Nightingale syndrome…then I don't know what to say. Yes, I'm attached to you. Yes, it's partly because you saved my life. But that isn't the only reason. That just means I know I can count on you when shit really hits the fan. You aren't going to lose your shit or flake out on me or dump and run."

"I wouldn't do that," she said.

He gave her a careful look. "Not anymore."

She rocked back on her heels like he'd scored a hit. "That's fair." She crossed her arms over her middle. Uncrossed them again. "So what is your life plan at this point?"

His mouth quirked. "Right now? Just trying to convince this girl I like that I haven't imprinted on her like a baby duck."

"I never said—"

"You kind of implied it."

She scuffed the wooden decking with the toe of her sneaker. "So you like me?"

He yanked at his dark curls and grimaced. "Shut up, please."

"Nick…" She caught him by the shirt to tug him closer. "I'm just trying to be careful."

"I know," he said. He tucked her hair behind her ears. "Careful's fine. I appreciate careful. Just please stop shutting me out. I'm your friend if nothing else."

She rested her hands on his hips and dropped her forehead to land against his sternum. He stroked his palms over her smooth hair and down her back, then wrapped his arms around her. They stood like that a long time, as the sun sank behind the trees and dusk melted into night. The nearly full moon brightened and the candle lent everything a soft golden glow.

He pulled away to cup her face in his hands. Her pulse quickened, and she almost pulled away, but when he lowered his face toward hers, he merely pressed a kiss to her forehead and let go. He smiled and rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone, then took a step back.

"You wanna go find a place for our new twinkle lights?" he said.

She grinned. "Yes, please."

"Next time we go we should grab one of those dick-shaped cake pans."

"Babe, if you want cake, just ask. We don't have to visit a sex shop for a novelty pan."

He thought that over. "Can we visit for other novelties then?"

"What type of novelties did you have in mind?" she said with a quirk of her brow.

His mouth moved in that slow, lazy half-smile. "Maybe we should have that conversation when you're feeling less cautious."


	12. Touch and Absence

**my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand**  
 **that's how i know now that you understand**  
Hozier, "No Plan"

 **July 10**  
He sat on the porch reading a Nora Roberts book, basking in the sun like a lizard. The umbrella was unfurled overhead and he had a tall, sweaty glass of mint tea laced with honey at his elbow. He wasn't entirely satisfied with the book. She was a great writer, but there was nary a bodice to be ripped. It did kind of make him want to move to Ireland and open a pub, though. He wondered how Kai felt about Ireland, and pubs.

He paused a moment to consider, his eyes scanning the lake without really seeing it, when movement in the yard caught his eye. It was the woman herself, returned from her walk, and she had a large basked tucked over her arm. She waved at him and jogged the rest of the way.

"I found raspberries!" she signed when she was close enough. "A whole ton of them!"

His mouth fell open in dismay once he got a good look at her. "Did you pick them or go to war with them?! Kai, you're bleeding!"

"What? Oh." She frowned down at a long, thin scratch on her arm. "Yeah, it got a little rough. I'm fine, though. Do you want raspberry muffins? I could probably make raspberry jam, too! You're gonna be so goddamn sick of raspberries."

He set his book aside and pushed himself to his feet. Helped her up onto the deck and took the basket from her. "Why don't you go get in the shower, then meet me back out here so I can do something about all…this." He made a gesture that encompassed most of her body, because there was very little exposed skin that didn't have at least one scratch.

She gave a long-suffering sigh. "Fine, mom. Put those in a colander to start rinsing, and I'll be back in like ten minutes. Hey, are you wearing sunscreen?"

His mouth quirked. "Yes, mom. Ten minutes. I'll be waiting."

Once inside she dropped her clothes in the bathroom hamper and took the quickest shower she could. She was glad Nick couldn't hear the little yelps, whimpers, and hisses she made from the hot water and soap as they hit her (multiple) wounds. She hadn't realized it was that bad until each and every one of them felt like it was on fire. _Smarty pants bossy face Nick Andros_ , she thought with a good-natured scowl.

She ran a comb through her wet hair and tossed on a pair of cutoffs and a tank top, the same outfit she'd had on during her raspberry run, so that none of the scratches would be covered up.

He was waiting for her on the deck as promised. He'd moved the chairs and spread out a towel, and he sat cross-legged reading that Nora Roberts book. The one that made her want to open a pub in Ireland. She was surprised he liked it, what with the lack of bodice-ripping.

He waved her over and she saw that he had the first aid kit and the jar of her honey ointment. "Can I just spread this on?" he said. "Or will that make a mess?"

"Mess," she said. "Also attract every bee in a two-mile radius. You can spread it on some bandages, and use it to stick them to me. No need for tape."

"Good idea." He studied her a moment through his dark sunglasses. Took them off and indicated that she should turn around. She did, and he tugged the hem of her shorts to have her sit.

There was a deep scratch that started on the back of one shoulder and extended across the opposite shoulder blade. He started with that one, carefully tugging the straps of her bra and her top down so he could get to all of it. He dabbed gently at the inflamed skin with a hydrogen peroxide-soaked cotton ball, and once the fizzing stopped, he cut a bit of gauze the right size, smeared some of the honey ointment onto it, and pressed it against the scratch.

She stayed steady throughout, and when he tapped her shoulder she flashed him a thumbs up. Next he went for a smaller one along the back of her arm. Her skin was so soft it was distracting, and this close the smell of her mint and rosemary soap and green tea and honey shampoo enveloped him in familiar sweetness.

He finished what he was doing and hesitated a moment. The tattoo between her shoulder blades peeked up above the edge of her tank top, and he was intrigued. He ran the pad of his thumb over it, and her head turned, eyebrow lifted.

"No scratches there," she signed with one hand.

"No. I'd like to see it sometime, though. If you'd like to show it to me."

She scooted around to face him and pulled her knees up almost to her chest. "It's not a secret. Come swimming with me sometime and you can get a good, long look at it."

He made a face. He couldn't swim and didn't have much desire to learn, but that didn't stop her from trying. "I'll…keep thinking about it."

"You do that. You know where to find me if you change your mind."

"Right here, getting coated in honey because you declared war on a raspberry cane." He tapped her knee and she stretched out her legs with an annoyed sigh.

"I didn't declare war on it. It declared war on me. I was just innocently picking raspberries." She chewed her lip for a moment. "But maybe next time I should consider a more suitable uniform."

His brow quirked in agreement. He draped her legs over his and tugged her closer, until she was nearly in his lap. Her hand fell to his bare shoulder (he wore an undershirt and his usual dark trousers) to steady herself, and he cupped her face in his palm. For a moment her pulse fluttered in an odd state of anticipation, from the heat of his breath and the intense concentration as he studied her. She dipped her head toward the spot where his long neck curved into his shoulder and took a deep breath to absorb the smell of his warm skin. The fingers of her other hand curled into his shirt and she tried to keep her breathing even. His lips parted and his good eye focused on hers and for just a second she watched pupil swallow deep, dark brown—but then he pressed a cotton ball to her cheek and she winced, and the moment was broken.

"Sorry," he mouthed, with a sympathetic grimace.

She shook her head as much as she was able with him holding her in place. "It's fine," she mouthed back. "Don't stop."

Her breath was a warm whisper across his skin and he suppressed a shiver. He had a job to do, and he couldn't get distracted by the images those two little words put into his head. He finished with the cotton ball and leaned back to reach for the gauze, but then paused.

"I don't think I need to bandage your face, do I?"

"Maybe just dab a little honey onto it. I don't want it to leave a scar."

"No?" He tapped the crescent-shaped scar under his good eye. "And here I thought you were copying me."

"It does lend you a certain roguish charm," she said. "Not sure I'd look quite so pretty, though."

His head tilted thoughtfully as he used the pad of his thumb to spread the ointment up and down the scratch on her cheek. "While it's true deaf-mute men are, as a rule, exceptionally pretty, you give me a decent run for my money. And you've got great legs."

She let out a surprised laugh and shoved him away. "Get off, Andros, I'll do the rest myself."

"Okay, okay!" he said. "You're exceptionally pretty too!"

"Too late, damage done, no more playing doctor for you!" She started to stand, but he pulled her back down and held up a finger to silence her protests.

"Let me at least get this one," he said and tapped her chest just above the scratch. "It'll be hard for you to see."

It started near her collarbone on the right side and sloped down to end just below the edge of her tank top on the left. "Fuck," she said with a glower. "My tit!"

"A definite attempted kill shot."

"Maybe I _was_ trying to copy you."

He frowned and dampened a new cotton ball. "Maybe next time copy my sunny and jubilant personality and leave my many injuries for someone else, okay?"

"Good idea." She tilted her head back to give him better access, but then dropped her chin to pin him with a look. "Are you sure this isn't just an excuse to try to cop a feel?"

He put on his most affronted expression. "I would never!"

Mock skepticism lifted her brow and tilted her mouth.

"If I wanted to cop a feel, I'd just ask," he said.

Her eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I'd say yes?"

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "You wouldn't. Not today." His lips curved in that lazy half-smile. "That's why I'm not asking."

Her mouth quirked in reply. "Smart boy," she said. She lifted her chin again and shook back her hair. "Get on with it, then. The spoils of war await, and I'm thinking raspberry sorbet."

 **July 12**  
Though she no longer rose before dawn, she still got up earlier than he did, and so it was no surprise that he was still asleep as the sun rose high and strong in the morning sky. But she was impatient, and it was nearly nine, and as grumpy as he could be when she woke him up, she thought maybe it would be worth it.

She set the full mug of coffee on the bedside table and stood studying him a moment as he slept. His dark curls were a tousled halo that needed trimming. The bruises on his face were gone, and the cut had healed well. His eye was still bandaged, but his thigh wasn't, and the scar there was pink and healthy-looking.

He'd filled out some in the last two weeks. She couldn't count his ribs anymore, and the planes on his face had softened and eased. She reached for his shoulder, to awaken him, but at the last minute pulled back. She loved touching him, the familiarity that had grown between them in the last two weeks, but she knew she was treading dangerous territory. One wrong step and she'd fall, or he would, and that would be that.

She shook off her worries and leapt onto the bed. The mattress squeaked beneath her and he bounced a good inch or so off of it. His mouth opened in a silent cry of surprise, and when he saw her his good eye narrowed.

"What the fuck?!" he signed once he had his bearings. "I thought it was an earthquake."

"Nope!" she said. "Just a tsunami." She grinned. "Get it?"

He glared at her. "Yeah. You're hilarious. What time is it?"

"Almost nine, Nick. I've been waiting for like two hours!" She sat down and crossed her legs. "I have a surprise for you. Two surprises!"

That perked him up a little, but only a little. "I hope one of them is coffee."

She sighed. "Okay, three surprises." She reached behind her for the mug and waved it under his nose. "Surprise number one, as requested."

He took it with a grimace of thanks and swallowed several long gulps despite the temperature. As he lowered the mug he read it and rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help the brief grin that broke through.

"Your favorite," she said, and tapped the handle of the mug.

"Sure, right. Thanks."

The stupid, ugly mug said NUMBER ONE FISHERMAN in huge red letters, and it had become something of a joke between them. She'd been trying to teach him to fish for over a week now, but it just wouldn't take. They'd set up by the lake, in the sun or the shade, and she'd start casting her line and reeling in fish both big (to keep) and small (to throw back), and inevitably he'd fall asleep. Doze right off like an old man. He'd often wake to her smearing sunscreen on his nose, or sometimes poking him in the shoulder and handing him the full basket to carry back to the house.

He had some of his best naps on those fishing trips, and it amused her far more than it annoyed her. She'd found the mug buried in the back of the cabinet sometime last week, and it had been his ever since. Neither of them thought Doc Soames would mind.

He set the coffee aside after draining nearly half of it. "Do you think I could pee before surprise number two? I don't know how surprising it is, and I'd hate to embarrass myself."

"Yeah, go ahead." She waved him toward the bathroom. "But hurry! I'm dying here!"

"Yes, ma'am. Hurrying, ma'am!" He gave her a mock salute and rolled out of bed. Even now he delighted in how easy it was to do something simple like walk to the bathroom. Two weeks ago she'd had to help him get anywhere, and for the first few days he'd barely moved from the bed except to pee and, once, take a bath.

By the time he returned she was practically bouncing with impatience. He gave her a lazy grin and climbed up to sit across from her. "Okay, I'm ready. Surprise me."

"Hold out your hands and close your eyes."

He frowned. "Kai—"

"Humor me. Please?"

He sighed and did as she said, and a moment later something dropped into his spread palms. He opened his good eye to stare down at a little package wrapped in matte navy blue paper and tied off with a gold bow. She'd glued shiny gold moons and stars to the top and everything. How long had she been awake?

"What is it?" he said.

"Open it and find out, silly."

He gave the pretty package a dubious look. "Can I rip the paper?"

"Of course you can. It's your present."

He carefully untied the bow and tore through the elegant wrapping to find a little white box, like maybe from a jewelry store. He glanced up at her, then back down at the box, before he opened the lid and pulled out what was inside.

She watched him with anticipation, but at the last minute quailed. What if he hated it? What if he thought she was making fun of him?

"It's an eye patch," she said. "I thought—I mean—I figured—you can't keep wearing a bandage, you know? I thought this would be more comfortable and, hey, pirates are cool, right?" She chewed her lower lip as he sat studying it in silence. She couldn't read his expression, and she worried she'd made a huge mistake.

He ran a finger across the buttery soft leather patch. Flipped it over to study the red silk that lined it. There was something padded between the two, so it would sit comfortably over his eye. The strap was adjustable. He squinted, turning it this way and that, and at last he looked at her.

"Where did you get this?"

"I—I made it. I got the materials at that fabric store in town and I've been working on it the past few mornings while you slept. If you hate it, I can—"

He grabbed one of her hands to stop her. Squeezed it gently as he broke into a slow, beaming smile. "I love it, Kai. You made this? For me?"

Her own mouth quirked. "Well yeah. The only ones I could find were, like, plastic. Halloween costumes. That might work in a pinch, but not longterm. I know the light hurts it, and everything's all shitty and blurry, so I just wanted—you to be comfortable."

"I didn't even know you could sew."

"Oh, I can't. Not really. God, you should see all my failed attempts. I can keep working on it if this one doesn't fit right or it's uncomfortable or anything."

He offered it to her. "Put it on me and let's find out."

She blushed a little and took it from him. "Okay, um, lean closer. So I can reach around your big ol' head."

He shot her a wry look and did as she said. First she carefully peeled away the bandage over his eye. He winced; the tape had started to make raw places on his skin, and she frowned when she saw it. "I'll put something on it later," he said.

She gave a distracted nod and studied him a moment, then ran her fingers through his hair to settle it, but it was a hopeless cause.

"I should cut some of this," she said.

"No way. I've seen how you cut hair."

"Ouch, Andros. Low blow. Fine, cut it yourself."

"Then you wouldn't have any excuse to mess with it all the time," he said with a little grin.

She lifted a brow. "I'm sure I could figure something out. Okay, sit still. I don't wanna poke your eye out the rest of the way." She looped the patch around his head and settled it into place. Fiddled with the adjustment thingie until he gave her a thumbs up.

"How does that feel?" she said.

He wiggled it more firmly into place and ran his fingers over it. Frowned. "Strange. Different. It'll take some getting used to." Some of the tension in his shoulders eased. "But better than the bandage. Much better. I can't believe you made this for me."

She shrugged. "You needed it."

"Yeah, but still. Thank you. It's a great surprise."

She tilted her head in embarrassed acknowledgement. "Well good. I'm glad you like it. Go check yourself out in the mirror, see what you think."

"You said three surprises."

"I did! Surprise number three won't be ready until tonight, though, so you'll just have to wait."

"Wow!" He staggered back and pressed a hand to his chest. "Wow, way to yank the rug out from under me. Have pity, I'm only just back on my feet."

"Drama queen. Hurry up and get dressed. I want pancakes!"

They'd both agreed his pancakes were better than hers, though he used her sourdough starter to make them. She was too impatient, flipped them too soon and too many times. For him the act of pouring the batter and waiting for the bubbles to appear, pop, and stay was meditative. Zen and the art of breakfast.

She hopped off the bed and bounded for the door, then stopped to cast a look over her shoulder. "I like it," she said. She smirked. "But then I've always had a thing for pirates."

Once in the bathroom he decided he liked it, too. It did make him look like a pirate, especially with his wild hair and scruffy beard. He rubbed his chin and thought about shaving, but decided against it. It was too much trouble to do every day, and besides, he looked sixteen without facial hair.

They had pancakes, then washed the dishes together. After that was yoga, then a shower, and he settled onto the couch to read. He'd finished the Nora Roberts, and now he had a real bodice-ripper going, and he needed to know if the virtuous deb would succumb to the roguish duke's charms, or marry the cute-but-boring prince.

Kai appeared from the bedroom with her hair in braids. She wore a t-shirt over her bathing suit and had a towel tossed over her shoulder. "Swim?"

"I don't swim, Kai. You know that."

"A girl can keep trying, can't she?" She smiled and circled the couch to wrap her arms around him from behind. He took her hand and kissed the center of her palm. She gave him a squeeze, pressed her lips to his temple, and ruffled his hair.

"I think she should choose the prince," she signed.

He craned his head back to look at her, expression incredulous. "Go away. We don't allow nonsense in this house."

"A strict nonsense-free zone?"

"Exactly. Take your nonsense outside where it belongs." He shooed her toward the door and she went, flashing him a laughing grin before she slipped out into the sunshine.

He watched her pick her way across the yard and out onto the dock. She paused at the end of it, a small figure silhouetted against the bright water, to drop her towel and shed her shirt. She stretched a little, then disappeared from view as she dove in.

He sighed and settled back into his book, but he was distracted. Maybe he should let her teach him how to swim. How hard could it be? Dogs could do it. Newborn babies could do it. Somewhere along the way he'd lost the knack, but maybe it was like riding a bike.

Eventually he gave up trying to read and set the book aside. Crossed his arms over his chest and dozed. Naps didn't usually bring dreams, or at least not the big ones, and so his sleep was easy and peaceful, and he didn't wake until she tousled his hair again.

His eye opened slowly, because for a moment he savored the mineral-and-loam scent of lake water that clung to her skin and tangled in her hair. When he finally looked at her she smiled and settled down on the coffee table.

"Morning, sunshine," she said.

"Hey. What time is it?"

"Next gift I'm getting you is a watch."

He rubbed his wrist with a rueful frown. The tan line there had faded. "I had one. Booth and his boys stole it."

"Sorry, kid. Next time we go into town we'll find you a new one. Maybe something fancy. I don't think they traffic much in Rolexes around here, but I'm sure we can find something up to your discriminating standards."

"Why would I need that when I can just ask you?"

"I don't know. I might accidentally shoot myself and be in and out of fever-driven delirium for several days. Shit happens."

He considered that a moment. "Good point. We'll see what we can find."

"Smart man." She rose and handed him his book. "Shower for me, then maybe Scrabble?"

He nodded, then knocked on the table to get her attention. "You never told me the time."

"Sure I did, bud. Time for you to get a watch." He threw his book at her, but she just skipped away with a laugh. "You walked right into that one. I'm not even sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously a lot of heavy shit happens over the course of The Stand, so these interlude chapters are my attempt at injecting a bit o' levity between heaviness. Consider it your creamy center of goodness before they have to rejoin the scariness of the real world.


	13. Bittersweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick finally gets Kai to open up about her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know shit's gettin' serious when I break out the Hozier.

**my babe would never fret none**  
 **about what my hands and body done**  
 **if the lord don't forgive me**  
 **i'd still have my baby and my babe would have me**  
Hozier, "Work Song"

She waited until after dinner to unveil the third surprise. They ate leaning next to each other at the kitchen island like a couple of savages who'd never heard of tables and chairs, and after they stacked their dishes in the sink she sent him to wait on the couch. She didn't make him close his eyes this time, and when she appeared from the kitchen she carried a small tray that she set on the coffee table with a flourish.

"Tada! Chocolate mousse to celebrate two weeks with no attacks, maimings, or other life-threatening injuries! I'm so proud of you!"

He stared at her a moment before he dropped his face into his hands. His shoulders shook, and when he lifted his head again his face was red. He was trying desperately to glare at her, but he couldn't stop laughing. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"It's your favorite, right? I thought such a special and momentous occasion deserved the best."

"Is this just jell-o pudding in fancy glasses?"

She looked insulted. "It's chocolate mousse, Nicholas! I made this. From scratch. This morning while you were sound asleep."

"It's mean to tease me about something so serious."

"I would never," she said. She scooped up a bite and offered him the spoon. "Have a taste. I'm about a whole lot more than bread and muffins, baby."

"That I do know." He took the spoon and popped into his mouth. The rich, creamy chocolate exploded over his tongue and he closed his eyes in bliss. "Holy shit. Wow."

"Good?" she said. Her expression was anxious, which didn't surprise him. She knew how good she was, but still she doubted.

He spooned up a bite and waved it her way. "Try it and find out."

She reached for the spoon but he pulled it back. She glared at him. He grinned. She let out a brief sigh, rolled her eyes, and leaned forward, lips parted. He started toward her, but then at the last minute veered away and ate the bite himself.

"Rude!" she said, laughing. "That was mine!"

"Oh, I thought we were sharing."

"Then share, butthead."

"Butthead?! That's how you ask me to share?!"

A huff. "I'm sorry, dear Nick, that I called you a butthead. Both your head and your butt are lovely, and very very separate. Now may I please have a bite of the chocolate mousse I worked so hard to make? Because if you're not going to share I'll just take mine and go home."

He pretended to think it over. "Yeah, okay," he said. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"You made me do it this morning. Close your eyes."

Something in his face made her pulse do a funny skippy thing, but after a moment she did as he said. She heard the spoon scrape the glass, but then instead of feeling cool metal against her lip, she felt the gentle brush of his finger. She opened her eyes as he pulled away and licked chocolate from his thumb, and the blood rushed to her cheeks.

He smirked at her, the slow lazy one that always got to her. "Got something on your lip there."

She touched her tongue to the bit of chocolate and the pupil went big in his good eye. They watched each other, the space between them filled with everything they'd spent the last two weeks avoiding. Everything she'd been so careful about.

"You missed some," he said.

She lifted her brows in a question and leaned closer. He touched his fingertip to the center of her lower lip, then slid his hand around to tangle gently in her hair. Her breath left in a soft rush and her eyes closed as he rubbed his thumb over her full mouth. Her chin lifted in invitation and she started to sign something, but he took one of her hands in his free one to stop her. His nose brushed hers and just before their lips met she jerked away.

"Stop. Please," she signed.

His brow creased in confusion. Had he completely misread what was happening? She'd wanted him to kiss her. She'd done that head lift thing. She'd leaned in and closed her eyes and he knew he wasn't imagining things. "What's wrong?" he said.

"I shouldn't have—" Her hands fluttered as she cast around for the words. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have." She rose and started toward the bedroom, but he followed her. Tapped her arm and turned her back to face him. He kept his touch gentle, easy enough that she could pull away if she wanted to, but she didn't resist.

"Am I crazy?" he said. He scrubbed through his hair and lifted his hands in a confused shrug. "Is that the problem? Because if it is, okay, I accept that. Tell me I completely misread the signs, that I've been misreading the signs practically since the moment we met, that I misunderstood everything on the deck the other night, and I'll accept that and we'll move on like this never happened. You know I'm not trying to push you into something you don't want."

"I know that," she said. "You wouldn't do that."

"Okay, then?" She said nothing, just looked away and wrapped her arms around herself like she wanted to shrink and disappear. "I'm not mad," he signed, with less urgency than before. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her. "I just want to understand."

"There's nothing to understand, Nick. No, you didn't misread anything. At no point have you misunderstood me. But that doesn't change anything."

He frowned. "Kai, please, help me out here. You're saying…you did want…what almost just happened to happen?"

She threw out her hands in frustration. "Yes! Yes, I wanted you to kiss me. I've _been_ wanting you to kiss me. I've been wanting to kiss you!"

"Then I'm not sure I get the problem."

"It's _me_!" She jabbed herself in the chest. "I'm the problem!"

He was beginning to see what this was about, but she had to be one to bring it up. He couldn't push her or she'd just run off and clam up and all the walls they'd torn down between them in the last few weeks would be back again, stronger and higher than ever. "How could you possibly be the problem?"

She spun away with her face buried in her hand, and when she turned again tears glimmered in her eyes. "Do you know what Flagg said to me in that dream? The one I had the night you woke up?"

He knew that she, like him, had finally met Flagg that night, and he knew he'd made her an offer. Nick had told her some of what Flagg had said to him, minus anything about her, but she'd stayed mostly quiet. Now he gave a slow shake of his head. "Tell me."

"He said…he offered to make me a queen. Not his queen, because virginity is apparently a requirement for that position, but a queen. He told me I belong with him, not with Mother Abagail."

"And you believed that? He's full of shit, Kai! He told me"—he gritted his teeth a moment, unsure, but then carried on—"that I could have you. That he would give you to me, like—like some sort of—concubine or something!"

That brought her up short. She hesitated, brow crinkling and smoothing as she contemplated. "And you said no?"

"Of course I did. Why the fuck would I want that? Yes, Christ, I want you. He's not wrong about that. But I want you, not some weird fake slave version of you. That's a fucking nightmare idea!"

That seemed to confuse her completely. "I don't understand."

He sighed and his anger drained away. He'd never been mad at her to being with; just this whole frustrating, stupid, fucked-up mess they were in. He took a hesitant step closer, but didn't try to touch her. "Which part?" he said.

She shook her head. A tear fell from her lashes and slipped down her cheek. "I'm a mess, Nicky. A mess worthy of playing queen to the devil. Or some weird version of him, anyway. Wouldn't it be easier to have me—the way he offered? Rather than like this?"

He smiled, soft and sweet. "Of course it would, but why the hell would I want easy? You're worth the work, Kai. All the best things in life are." He waved toward the table, then at this own face. "Like homemade chocolate mousse or hand-sewn eyepatches."

She crossed her arms again and fought off a shiver. "You don't know me as well as you think you do."

"Then tell me," he said. "I know you're afraid, but I'm not."

"No." She turned away, and this time when he stopped her he wasn't quite as gentle.

"Kai, just tell me. I'm not going anywhere. Do you get that? Whatever it is, I'm staying put."

She swiped at her cheek and poked him in the chest. "You're a runner. You told me that yourself. What would keep you from running now?"

" _You_!" He jabbed his finger at her and lifted his arms to emphasize it. "You, goddammit! I finally found what I needed to stick around, and it's you! So tell me whatever it is that's got you so tied up in knots, and then we'll figure out what happens next. I'm done running, Kai, and you're not going to change my mind about it!"

It was clear that she wanted to believe him, but the need to guard her secrets was so deeply ingrained he wasn't sure he was getting through. Finally she closed her eyes and slumped against the wall. He waited. She lifted her hands and began to sign.

"When I was fourteen my parents died. I was sent to live with my biological father, and while my Grandmère was alive it wasn't too bad. He drank too much and yelled at me a lot, but life's a bitch." She looked at him then, watching his face to study his reaction.

"She passed not long after I turned sixteen. Things got much, much worse after that."

"You said he was abusive," he said.

She nodded. Bit her lip. "He escalated, first to constant insults. Vile things sometimes, like that I was a slut and a whore…that's the clean version." A brief sigh. "Then hitting, though not very often, because if I showed up to school bruised and battered people would start to talk. It…got bad…when he started coming into my room sometimes when he was really drunk."

His face changed, and she held up a hand.

"Not _that_ bad. He never actually touched me. He just—said things. And…well. He never touched me, and I was grateful for that, but it seemed like it was only a matter of time until things changed. Maybe he was waiting for something, I don't know."

"But then he died."

Their eyes met. She lifted her chin and straightened up from the wall. "Yes," she signed, crisp and businesslike. "Because I killed him."

He waited for her to continue, but when she didn't he lifted his hands in a shrug. "Okay."

She blinked. "That's your response? _Okay_?!"

"What else do you want me to say, Kai? You told me you wanted me to kiss you—"

"Well, yes, but—"

"And that you're desperate to kiss me—"

"Nobody said _desperate_!"

"And now you're saying you can't because you killed your abusive father." He made a brief gesture of frustration. "He belittled you. He hit you, and eventually it sounds like he would've—" He broke off and clenched his fists, then relaxed them. "He would've raped you. Sounds like you did what you had to do to protect yourself."

Her mouth fell open. "Nick—"

"What if it were the other way around?"

"What?"

He waved his hand. "What if I told you that when I was a vulnerable kid who just lost his parents, I was sent to live with a man I'd never met who abandoned my mom when she was pregnant with me because he was afraid I might be born…flawed. This complete stranger was cruel to me, and the only person who offered me any sort of comfort or safety died, and I was stuck with him. He beat me. He was sexually inappropriate. He said horrible things to me on the regular. So I killed him, because I was trapped and there was no other way out. What would _you_ say to _me_?" He thrust his finger at her, and then hard into his own chest to emphasize the _you_ and then the _me_.

"It's not—" She gave a hard shake of her head. "It's not the same!"

"How?! How is it not the same, Kai? What makes you so goddamn special?!"

She surged toward him. "What the fuck does that mean?!"

"It means you're so hellbent on being a martyr to your own past that you refuse to accept there might be any other way. What did you think I was going to say when you told me? That I hate you? That you disgust me? Is that what you said to me back in Jane Baker's bathroom?!" His signs were rough and fast, infused with his fury and passion.

"That is not the same!"

"How the fuck do you think anyone I've ever told has reacted before you?! It hasn't been that many, but a few. Some of them freaked out immediately, and a couple others acted cool but then got weird. No one. No one has just accepted it!" He broke off and drew in an uneven breath. "Until you."

"It just—Nick it's—" She scrubbed her face with both hands. "It was just sex work, Nick. You have…a skill…and you used it. You also worked on farms and as a line cook and on a cargo barge in Lake Michigan."

"You shot Ray Booth."

"To save your life!"

"Okay! You killed your dad to save yours. It's the same thing."

"I planned it! I put digitalis in his bottle of Jack and draped a blanket over his shitty old space heater, then I went to work." She chewed her thumbnail. "The ME said he didn't inhale any smoke, so he was already dead before the fire started. They ruled it a heart attack and I got a really big life insurance payout."

He lifted a brow. "Bonus."

"It's not funny, Nick!"

"It is a little bit! Kai, for fuck's sake, you really let Randall fucking Flagg convince you that you belong on the Dark Side because you killed someone who really fucking deserved it to stop him from hurting you?! Come on."

He reached for her, but she knocked his hands away. "It wasn't just him! Maybe I do belong—on the Dark Side." Her shoulders slumped. "Maybe Mother Abagail is wrong."

He mulled that over. "Then maybe she's wrong about me, too."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said with a snort.

He just looked at her. She glared back. He dipped his head to hide a smile, because he was afraid she might cut it off if she saw it. He stepped closer and cupped her face in his hands. Her eyes were wide but otherwise steady. He rubbed his thumb over her mouth, something he didn't think he'd ever get tired of doing.  
He leaned in, moving slowly so that she could stop him again if she wanted to. But this time she didn't. He pressed a kiss to one corner of her mouth, then the other. Her lips parted on a breath that he caught and gave back to her and then his mind blanked because there was nothing but her: kissing her, tasting her, the softness of her skin and the heat of her mouth.

Her fingers tangled in the curls at the back of his neck and his hand slipped down to her waist to pull her against him.

He tasted sweet, and a little bitter, like the fine chocolate she'd used in the mousse. His lips were unbelievably soft, and he kept the kiss easy and gentle. It felt like the first day of spring after a long winter: stepping into the sunshine and shrugging off all the old and dull for the new and bright.

When he finally broke it she tried to pull him back for more, but he leaned away. She frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he said. He let go of her and took two steps back. Tucked his hair behind his ear. "No, everything's—it's perfect. That was…perfect."

Her frown deepened. "Okay, then…? What's happening?"

It took every ounce of self control he'd ever had not to grab her and kiss her until they were both breathless and drunk and…well, naked—but he knew he couldn't. Instead he took a deep breath and hoped she would understand. "Do you remember what you told me about how you sometimes use sex to escape from feeling your emotions?"

Her jaw dropped. "Who said anything about sex?"

He just looked at her, brows raised.

She let out a huff of irritation. "You are real fucking sure of yourself for a guy who keeps pissing me off."

He smiled and stepped closer again. Ran his knuckles along the line of her jaw and up the curve of her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned into the touch and she was incredibly glad he couldn't hear the hungry little noise she made. He seemed to know anyway, based on the glint of amusement in his eye.  
"I don't want you to be running from anything when you're with me, Kai," he said.

A line of consternation formed between her brows, but at last she nodded. "I don't want to be running, either." She bit her lip. "You really—weren't tempted? By his offer?"

"For a split second. Before I realized what he meant. Once I did—no. I wasn't at all. I wouldn't want anyone—like that. But you?" He shuddered. "I told him"—he gave a rough chuckle at the memory—"that you're the ocean, and he was offering me a puddle."

Her breath left in a rush and color flooded her cheeks. "Ohh."

He grinned, good eye twinkling. "Right?"

She swatted his arm. "Don't ruin it!"

"Sorry, sorry!" His expression sobered. "It's true, though. And I promise it's not because I've imprinted on you like a baby duck."

"I know it's not," she said with a wince. "It's just—Sandra Bullock told Keanu Reeves that relationships based on intense circumstances never work out, and she was right, because by _Speed 2_ they were over and she was on that cruise all by herself. I mean, sure, Jason Patric was there, but—"

He took her hands in his and kissed the center of each palm. "You're right, and so was she, but I know how I feel. So trust me, okay? Please?"

"I do trust you. You're the only person I've ever told about my father. You couldn't have pried it out of me with the jaws of life if I didn't trust you."

"But you thought it would make me hate you."

She lifted her hands in a dismal shrug. "Sarah would've hated me, I think."

He sighed. "Kai, no offense, but from everything you've told me, Sarah was a judgmental—" He broke off with a scowl.

" _Judgmental bitch_ , it's okay, you can say it. She was. Not always in a bad way, but…yeah. It was part of why I fell in love with her, to be honest. But then one day I realized I wasn't in some special _excluded from Sarah's judgment_ club."

"So you banged the chef."

Her lips quirked, ruefully. "It was well before I banged the chef, but it's definitely part of why."

He studied her a moment. Then, "I'm not the chef, Kai."

She blinked, confused. "I know that. Of course you aren't."

"You aren't either."

"That's not…I never thought—"

"You. Aren't. Either," he said again, each word emphatic and firm.

"Nick—of all the things I've worried about, you fucking me to avoid actually having to break up with your judgmental ex is not one of them. And that's not the only reason I slept with Remy. He was very tall. And hot. And had a really big—"

"Okay!" He held up a hand. "I don't need to know about that."

"I was going to say _record collection_ , but sure, make it dirty."

"Okay, well, I don't want you for your record collection, either."

"Good, because I left it in Abilene. Can we please go have our mousse now? It's going to get warm."

"Yes, yeah, just one—" He reached for her, but she was quicker. She stepped into him, took his face in her hands, and pulled him down for a long, slow kiss. His breath was warm against her mouth and he squeezed her hips with both hands and she pressed against him with a quiet sigh. The kiss deepened, turned hotter and hungrier, and his tongue slipped across her lower lip, but she pulled away with a gasp.

"Behave, Andros, or no dessert for you."

He smirked, buried both hands in her hair, and tugged her back to him. This time her lips parted in invitation and his tongue dipped between them to slide over hers slow and slick and sensuous. They fell against each other and her fingers plunged into his dark curls and his palms traced the smooth lines of her back. The taste of her, the heat of him—she pulled him with her as she leaned against the wall and he went, pressing his body full-length into hers and gripping her hips to tilt her even closer.

The kiss broke long enough for her to gasp out his name, something he saw and felt even if he couldn't hear it, and he lost all chance of coherent thought. It was just her, her, her, Kai, like a wave crashing over him and this was just a kiss holy _shit_ what were they getting themselves into?!

When they finally parted they were both wide-eyed, flushed-faced, and panting. They stared at each other, and finally she let out a little laugh as he tugged a hand back through his tousled hair.

"So…mousse?" Except he used the sign for _moose_ because he couldn't remember the other due to the lack of blood reaching his brain.

"Yes," she said with a nod. "That."

He gestured for her to precede him, and after taking a moment to collect himself, he followed her. He believed what he'd said earlier about taking it slow, and he planned to stick by it—but good Christ he was a fucking moron, and it was going to be a _long_ night.


	14. The Persistence of Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All smut all the time. At last.

**honey i laugh when it sinks in**  
 **a pillar, i am upright**  
 **scarcely can speak for my thinking what**  
 **you'd do to me tonight**  
Hozier, "Dinner and Diatribes"

 **July 14**  
When he woke that morning she was, of course, already up, but on her pillow was a plate containing one of yesterday's croissants, a pat of butter, and a generous dollop of (seedless, at his request) raspberry jam. He went to the bathroom, then came back to lounge against the pillows and savor the flaky, buttery pastry.

As much as he enjoyed the fruits of it, he hoped yesterday's baking frenzy wouldn't carry over into today. She didn't want to talk about what had happened the other night, and he was okay with that, but rather than just letting him tell her so, she moved like a whirling dervish and didn't give him a chance to say anything at all.

He was, as he'd told her, a patient man, so he let her whirl and clean and bake, and he waited. He thought maybe she'd left the croissant as a sort of peace offering, her way of saying talks were open, so once he finished eating he gathered his plate and went to find her.

The kitchen was empty. He hoped she hadn't gone after raspberries again, or if she had, she'd dressed better. He looked out the back windows and saw the umbrella open at the end of the dock.

Swimming. Oh. So she was avoiding him still.

He glowered at his own reflection in the glass. He wasn't afraid of the water just because he didn't know how to swim. And if he somehow fell in, surely she would come get him. She wasn't mad; just scared, and not of him.

He didn't know how long she'd been out there, but maybe she'd come in soon. She was always relaxed after a swim, and it might be a good time to talk to her. He knew he was being a coward about it, but he ignored the voice in his head and wandered toward the bathroom.

In front of the mirror he scrubbed a hand over his beard and back through his hair.

All of this might go better, he thought, if he didn't look like quite such a ne'er-do-well. He found a pair of scissors in the drawer and stood contemplating for a moment. Then he began to snip.

* * *

Kai had begun to consider getting the fuck over it and going back inside when the glint of light off the door's glass as it opened and closed caught her eye. She saw him cross the deck, then lost sight of him where the yard dipped down. He reappeared again where the path ended at the dock, and she thought he might stop there. She knew the free-floating dock made him nervous, but to her surprise he kept walking toward her. His stride was long and determined, the set of his shoulders purposeful.

He paused at the edge of her towel, his tall body throwing her into deeper shadow than the umbrella alone, and she squinted up at him. He was hallowed by the bright sun, a silhouette against the blinding sky, but still she could see…

"You trimmed your beard," she signed. Her eyes followed as he knelt in front of her. "And your hair."

He nodded. "It was getting out of control." He ran a hand through it, that familiar, endearing twist-and-tug gesture. "Not too short, is it?"

"No," she said with a brief smile. "It looks great." She meant it, too: he was pretty enough that the beard added to rather than took away from his face, but it had gotten a little overwhelming.

"Good." He frowned and looked out over the water. Now that he was here he wasn't sure what to say. He let his gaze wander from the lake to her, and he didn't bother to hide his interest.

She sat cross-legged watching him study her, her hair wet-but-not-dripping and slicked back from her forehead. Her skin was dry, but her two piece bathing suit—turquoise with red polka dots, and a little red ruffle at each hip—was still damp. She hadn't been out of the water long, and he knew if he leaned closer he would smell it on her skin.

She lifted a brow. "Well?"

His head tilted in a question.

"Did you come out here just to stare at me?"

He lifted his hands in a shrug. "Maybe I did. I like looking at you."

Her mouth quirked. "Okay then."

He settled back onto his ass and drew his knees up to rest his forearms on them. He hooked his hands loosely together and for a long time they just looked at each other. Silently, appraisingly, each thinking the things that were so hard for them to say.

Finally he stirred. "Can I see your tattoo?"

Her expression changed, a subtle tightening around the eyes, but at last she nodded. "Yes. But don't—" She broke off with a frown.

"Don't…?"

"Nothing," she said. "Yes, you can see it."

She started to get up, but he stopped her with a finger on her knee. Instead he pushed to his feet and walked around to kneel behind her. She bent a little, to give him a better view, and he could see the tension in the lines of her back. Why was she so nervous?

The tattoo was a circle between her shoulder blades, just above the bathing suit's strap. It was a wave caught at its crest. The top of it broke the circle, and so did the water at the bottom. It was watercolor, and the chop of the ocean surrounding the wave looked almost liquid. She shifted a little, and something about it caught the light differently. He frowned and leaned closer.

Every instinct screamed for her to stop him, but she didn't. He'd asked her to trust him, and she'd said she did, so now she needed to start acting like it. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath as his fingertips brushed her skin.

He ran his fingers along the curl of the wave, and back down to the water. The ink was masterfully applied to cover a series of round scars, each about the diameter of…

He tapped her shoulder so that she twisted to look at him. "Are these scars what I think they are?"

"As long as you think they're cigarette burns, then yes. It's how he used to wake me up, the nights he came into my room. He always kept it so fucking hot in that house, never let me run the AC, and you know I'm a hot sleeper."

He nodded. Many nights he'd fallen asleep with her curled up against him, both of them under the covers, then woken to find her sprawled on her side of the bed, as far away from him as she could get, with the blankets balled at her feet or shoved in a pile between them.

"I always slept in a tank top and panties, but then he started doing that. So I switched to PJs and lost like ten pounds of water weight. Which he approved of, because he loved to call me fat."

He made a face. "You should've killed him twice."

"Yeah," she said. "Maybe so." She smiled a little and turned away again, and so she was surprised when she felt the soft, warm brush of his mouth against her skin. He kissed each little round scar with a gentle tenderness that made her tremble. Before she could gather herself to look at him again, he scooted around so that he was in front of her.

His eyes stayed steady on her face as he took her hand in his and kissed the scar that ran from base of her thumb down to her wrist, where she'd cut herself trying to carve a pumpkin for pie. He cupped her face and pressed his lips to the scar on her forehead she'd had since she was two. He kissed down the scratch on her cheek from the raspberries. He paused and tapped a finger against the pale line along her chin that stretched nearly to her lower lip.

"I was fourteen," she said. "During Katrina. The wind blew out a window and the glass cut my face. We were on the way to the hospital. That's how my parents drowned."

His brows drew together. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "I don't mind it. I'd never forget them anyway, but somehow it's still a reminder. They loved me that much. They took that risk for me."

He kissed that one even more softly than the others, like a gentle whisper, then moved to a teardrop shaped scar on her shoulder.

"Chicken pox," she said. "Sixth grade."

He skimmed his lips along the scratch on her chest. One on her arm. He moved slowly, deliberately, giving her plenty of time to stop him if she needed to. Each kiss was a worshipful communiqué that rested on her skin like a spark, and she hoped he never stopped.

He ran his hands down her thighs and she stretched her legs out on either side of him. His thumb brushed an old scar on her knee, and he bent her leg to study it.

"We went to the beach when I was in fourth or fifth grade," she said. "I was playing on some rocks and slipped."

He grimaced in sympathy and kissed it like he had all the others. His eye caught on one on her abdomen, and his head tilted in a question.

Her mouth quirked. "Gallbladder removal when I was twenty-two. Laparoscopically." She had to sign it _with lasers_ because she didn't know the sign and didn't know how to spell it. "The other scars pretty much faded, but I used to sleep on my stomach, so that one took longer to heal."

His eye met hers again, a careful appraisal, before he gently pushed her back onto the towel. Her heart pounded and every part of her felt electrified as he moved up from between her knees to kiss the small mark. He lingered a moment. Kissed it again, and brushed over it with his tongue. She let out a breath that he felt leave her, and he looked up with that lazy, knowing half-smile.

He started to move higher, clearly intent on her mouth, but she stopped him. "You missed one," she said.

He lifted a brow, and she dropped her hand to rest on her right side, just above her pubic bone. The area was covered by her bathing suit. "Appendix. Second grade."

"Do you have any extraneous organs left?"

"Nope, tonsils are gone too. I'm streamlined."

He grinned and dipped his head to kiss a line down her belly to the edge of her bathing suit. He tugged it down just far enough to expose the scar, then dropped three soft kisses from end to end. He looked up at her with a questioning expression.

"I think that's got it. Now please come up here and kiss me before I lose my mind."

He grinned again, wider this time, and moved up so that his lips hovered over hers. Their noses brushed. She ran her fingers up his neck to tangle in his hair. His pulse pounded against the heel of her hand. They could each feel the other's breath on their skin, against their lips, as their gasps grew desperate and uneven in the rising anticipation. The heat between them sizzled like a lit fuse.

Her stormy eyes were nearly all pupil, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted in an invitation just for him. He wanted her so much he _ached_ , but he couldn't fuck this up. If he did she might not give him another chance, and now that he spent so much time touching her, now that he'd tasted her, he didn't think he could go back to when he didn't, or act like he hadn't.

She moved a little beneath him, an impatient wiggle, and his mouth curved in a teasing smile just before their lips met. He felt her laugh against him and it was like everything fell into place, a series of dominoes toppling in perfect, choreographed order: this was exactly where they were meant to be, here, together, this moment.

He lifted his head to look at her, and she was smiling at him. But at his expression her brows drew together in a question. "Is something wrong?" she signed with one hand.

He shook his head. "No, I just—" He dipped his chin to kiss her chest, the curve of her shoulder. "I don't want to fuck this up."

"Oh." She pushed his shoulder a little so that he rolled away. She turned onto her side and pulled him back so that they were face to face. "I wouldn't worry about that. Your instincts have been pretty spot-on so far."

He grinned. "Yeah?"

She ran her hand up his chest and captured his chin. Held him still while she studied him. His face was so familiar, even after such a short time. Familiar and dear, and while she often found herself confused and adrift in this strange new world, it was always Nick who called her back. Kept her steady. She brushed a curl off his forehead.

"Yeah, Nicky. I trust you. I always have. Maybe I haven't shown it as well as I could have, but it's true."

She kissed him, easy at first, but then deeper. His hand slid over the curve of her hip around to her back and he pulled her even closer. She moved her leg against his, and he slotted his thigh between hers. She tugged at his undershirt and he pulled it over his head and tossed it away, heedless of the water that surrounded them. Her fingers traced the crescent scar above his left nipple, and with a little frown she kissed it, just as he'd done to hers.

After that it seemed like hands were everywhere. He touched every inch of skin he could, and she ran her fingers from the waist of his trousers to his collarbone in a teasing caress. He peeled the strap of her bathing suit down to kiss her shoulder, suck gently at the silky skin, then reached around to undo the clasp. She flipped onto her back to shrug out of it and for a moment he was frozen.

She grinned and ran her finger down the long line of his nose. Tapped the end of it. "Surely you've seen tits before, Mr. Andros."

"One or two," he said, tilting his head back and forth. He knelt between her thighs and stroked a big hand from her bellybutton up, to rest between them. "I guess it's about time I admitted I think you're ridiculously hot."

Her head fell back on a laugh. "Ridiculously?"

He shrugged. "Insanely."

"Wild that two such amazingly hot people ended up apocalypse buddies," she said as she pulled him closer.

He paused, a surprised grin brightening his face. "You think I'm hot?"

"Nick!" Something in his expression told her he was serious, at least in part, so she kissed him softly, each cheek, his nose, and finally his mouth. "Yes," she said. "You're gorgeous, sweetheart. I'll never get tired of looking at you."

He'd had no idea something so sweet and gentle could touch him so deeply, but his breath left in a shaky rush and he wrapped his arms around her to pull her close. Her skin was warm, and she stroked through his hair and down his back. He felt her little gasp as he turned his head to kiss her neck, and her fingers tightened on his shoulders as he worked his way down.

He spent what felt like forever on her breasts, kissing and licking and sucking. He rolled one nipple between his fingers while he worked the other one with his mouth, and then switched, back and forth over and over until they were sensitive and swollen and she was reduced to mindless little whimpers and moans that he could feel in her chest and see whenever he cut his eye up to her face.

He moved up to kiss her, then back down, his hands leading the way as he kissed and nipped a blazing trail to the waistband of her bathing suit. He took a few moments to lavish attention on the soft swell of her belly and generous curve of her hip before he hooked his fingers in the suit and glanced at her.

She gave a drunken nod, her eyes dark with need, and he smirked as he pulled the scrap of cloth over her thighs, past her knees, so that she could kick it away. She was naked now, beautifully, gloriously, perfectly naked, and he couldn't stop touching her smooth skin with lips and hands and tongue.

He lingered at her inner thigh. Teased her with easy kisses and quick little nips. Swirled his tongue against the sensitive skin and sucked a mark that he soothed with more kisses.

Finally he looked up at her, lips curved in that lazy half-smile. "Do you remember when you asked me what I'm into?"

She lifted a brow. "You wouldn't answer me."

"I like to pick my moment." He moved up to kiss her. As their lips met he pressed his hand between her thighs, and she gasped into his mouth. He smirked and lifted the hand to tweak her nipple, tap a finger against her lips. "I'm into making you come, pretty girl. Over. And over. And over."

He kissed her between each _over_ , and by the last one she grabbed double handfuls of his hair to hold him there while her tongue flicked and curled against his, a sensuous tease that had him panting. She released his hair and tapped his shoulder so that he'd turn his head to look as she said, "I love the way you think. It's brilliant. You're brilliant. And we'll for sure do that later. But for now, if you don't fuck me, and fuck me hard, I will throw you in this lake. Understood?"

His breath left in a whoosh, like she'd punched him in the gut, and his forehead dropped to rest against hers. He kissed her a few times, rough and quick. "Are you sure? Before you said—"

"I know what I said. And I'm sure. There are exceptions to every rule." She slid a hand down his chest and undid the button on his trousers. Carefully lowered the zipper and teased him through his boxer briefs, first with just her fingertips, then with the heel of her hand in a long, torturous stroke. He arched into it, his head falling back to expose his long neck to her sucking kisses and swirling tongue.

"Fuck!" he mouthed on a silent breath.

Now it was her turn to smirk. "That's the idea, sweet boy." She squeezed and he squirmed.

"But I really want to taste your pussy," he signed, and his good eye was big and dark and pleading.

"Do you?" She bit her lip. Took his hand and guided it back between her thighs, this time dipping his fingers between her lips. They both shuddered, him from how hot and wet she was, her from how good even that light caress felt, and then moved them back again to her mouth. She sucked one of them clean before offering him the other. He stared at her, wide-eyed and hypnotized, then licked the sweet and smoky taste of her off his fingers.

Her brows lifted in a question, and he nodded like a drunkard. She shoved his trousers and shorts down and left them when they caught on his thighs. He gripped her thighs, his hands rough for the first time, and as his cock pressed against her she gave an eager nod and lifted her hips to match his first thrust.

The dock made an alarming dip and he froze, startled. She touched his face to get his attention. "It's like fucking on a waterbed, babe. Just go with it."

He tried to understand what she was saying, but to him it just seemed like he'd buried himself in her and the world had gone all tilted, which made a weird sort of sense. _Dock_ , he thought. _Floating. Waterbed. Oh…_

His mouth curved in a wicked grin and he started to move, slowly at first, until he got a handle on how it moved. She mouthed his name, and when he ran his thumb across her swollen lips she caught it between her teeth and smirked at him.

She gave a dismayed gasp when he pulled out completely, but he held up a hand urging patience. He knelt between her legs and pulled her closer, so that her hips were on his thighs and her ankles on his shoulders. He turned his head to kiss her inner ankle and then slid into her slow and easy.

She closed her eyes at the new sensation, the pressure on her g-spot, so fucking good. Her eyes flew open in surprise at the feel of his hand pressed against her clit, the heel of his palm grinding into her so that the delicious heat went deep, as deep as his thick cock inside of her, and she moaned his name in a mindless, drugged litany.

He wanted to make her come more than he'd wanted nearly anything in his life, to feel her go tight around him and watch her face as it happened. He gripped her hip with his free hand and rocked into her. When she closed her eyes again he touched her face so that she looked at him, and after that neither of them looked away.

She was close, so close, and watching his face as he fucked her, the intense concentration on it, the way he caught his lower lip between his teeth and furrowed his brow, stoked the fire higher and hotter. "That's so good," she signed. "So good don't stop you feel so good!"

He smirked, just a little, and began to move the hand against her clit in a slow circle. "Yes!" she cried aloud, and his grin widened. "Gonna come!" she gasped. "Nick, Nicky, fuck!" Her hips bucked and she tightened around him like a velvet vise. He didn't let up and the exquisite, electric sensations rolled over and through her again and again.

She finally started to come down from it, and she looked up at him with a wicked grin. Crooked her finger at him. "Come here."

He stretched out on top of her again and hooked an arm under one of her legs to pull it higher and push himself deeper. She moaned and rocked against him; he kissed down the line of her throat and licked droplets of sweat from her glowing skin.

"Come for me," she breathed. "I want to feel you."

He shuddered: watching her kiss-swollen-and-reddened lips shape those words almost sent him over the edge right then, but he managed to hold on.

"I came sooo hard for you, Nicky. Now it's your turn to come for me."

"Fuck!" he mouthed. His forehead dropped to her shoulder and he thrust once, twice, a third time, hard and fast. She squeezed around him and dug her short nails into his shoulders and that was it. He raised his face so he could watch her as he came, watch her beautiful, brilliant eyes and her familiar, beloved face, and his orgasm hit so hard it left him breathless and weak and he thought it might never end.

Finally his arms gave out and he tumbled against her. She caught him, wrapped her arms around him, and ran her fingers through his hair. Kissed his sweaty temple over and over. They could feel each other's hearts pounding in their chests and they both gasped for air. As minimal brain power began to return, he kissed any bit of her he could reach and stroked his hands up and down her sides.

He rolled away; not because he wanted to, but because they were outside and it was probably 95 degrees and they both needed to cool off a bit before they got heat stroke.

She waved toward the cooler. "Water," she signed. "Have some and share."

He cracked the bottle open with a grateful sigh and chugged a long gulp. He glanced at her, evil glinting in his good eye, and as she reached for it he swerved and poured icy water across her naked body.

She let out a shriek he was glad he couldn't hear, but she was also laughing. She dove at him, cussing a blue streak, but he held the bottle just out of reach. He grinned and lifted a finger. She glared at him. He pointed at her lips, then his. She rolled her eyes in pretend outrage, kissed him, and gestured for the water.

He tilted his head thoughtfully, but at her murderous expression he gave a silent laugh and handed it over.

"You are not as cute as you think you are, Nick Andros," she signed one-handed as she drank.

"Yeah I am. You said so." He stretched out next to her and linked his fingers behind his head and crossed his legs at the ankle, a picture of summertime insouciance, in the nude.

She screwed the cap back on the bottle and set it in the middle of his abdomen, just above his bellybutton, and he hissed at the cold. She looked at him with big, innocent eyes. "Oops," she said.

He knocked the bottle away and grabbed her arm to drag her down so that her body was half draped over his. She gave a yelp of surprise, but he cut it off with a kiss, and felt her little _mmm_ of pleasure against his lips.

"We should go in," she said once the kiss broke. "It's hot out here."

"Not sure my legs work yet," he said with a lazy grin.

Her mouth quirked. "Not sure mine do either, to be honest." She tapped a finger against his sternum. "You might have changed my mind about penetrative sex."

He sketched out a bow from his prone position. "All to serve you, my witchy queen."

"Not a witch. And…" She frowned, and he grimaced as he remembered Flagg's offer.

"I'm sorry. Wasn't thinking. I just meant—I didn't mean—"

She grabbed his hand and kissed the back of his fingers. "It's okay, really. I know you didn't mean—that. But regardless, I'm still not a witch."

He stroked her jaw. "I don't know. Pretty sure you put a spell on me with those eyes and"—he gripped her ass with both hands—"your cutting wit."

She laughed, gave him a light swat on the chest with the back of her hand, and rolled away, onto her back. He slid an arm under her head and she shifted so that she rested on his shoulder. "Nick, you know—we still need to talk about the other night. About—what I told you."

He frowned and turned over to face her. Tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Do we?"

She lifted a brow. "Don't we?"

"You can talk to me about anything, Kai. I'm always here to listen or be a sounding board, whatever you need. So if you need to talk about it, we will. But—I'm good. I meant what I said. And after seeing—" He broke off. A spasm of anger crossed his face. "After seeing your back, combined with everything else you've told me—I am not mourning your father. And I'm not going anywhere. At least not without you."

Her smile was tremulous but hopeful. "That's not just post-orgasmic glow talking, is it?"

He smirked. "No, you goofy idiot. It's me, talking to you. And I say you're stuck with me. So get used to it."

Her face scrunched as she pretended to think it over. "I mean I gueeesss…"

"I just made you come your brains out, and I changed your mind about penetrative sex. Gimme a break here!"

She flashed a mischievous grin. " _Maybe_ changed my mind."

"Ohh, _maybe_! Well I guess I'll just have to keep trying. See? Stuck with me." He tilted her chin up and leaned in like he was going to kiss her, but at the last minute he veered to the side and blew a raspberry on her shoulder.

She laughed and shoved him away, then pulled him back for a kiss. Her expression sobered as the kiss broke. He ran his thumb over the line between her brows. "We can't stay here much longer," she said.

He sighed, his own face turning grave. "I know."

"The last couple of weeks have been…" She trailed off with a shrug as words failed her.

"I know," he said again. "I don't want to go either."

"But we have to," she said.

He nodded. "The dreams have gotten more urgent."

"I think—" Her eyes focused on some point beyond him. They narrowed thoughtfully. "I think others are on their way. But for some reason she's waiting on us, specifically."

"I get that impression too." He hauled in a breath and wrapped his arms around her a moment. Rested his chin on her head and just held her. Then, "A few more days?"

"A few more. Then we have to move on." She disentangled herself from him and stood. Slipped her feet into her shoes and cast him a long look over her shoulder. "I'm going inside," she said. "Care to join me?"

He sat up, undeniably interested. Especially since she was still naked. "Got any plans once you get in there?"

"I don't know. Shower, maybe? I got all sweaty, and my hair smells like lake water." She bit her lip. "Feel free to join me, if your legs start working again." With that and a wicked little smile she turned and sauntered away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new conceit: naming my chapters after famous works of art.


	15. The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Kai finally hit the road to Nebraska.

**her fight and fury is fiery  
** **oh but she loves  
like sleep to the freezing  
sweet and right and merciful  
i'm all but washed  
in the tide of her breathing**  
Hozier, "Cherry Wine"

 **July 16**  
"Okay, wait, hang on, I'm working here!" she said with a laugh. "Like we said before, we need to stick to back roads because the highways might be clogged, and then—"

He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides so she couldn't sign. Kissed behind her ear and dodged when she tried to splash him. He kissed the corner of her jaw. "West on route sixty to six-oh-three," he signed with one hand. Nibbled her ear and rested his chin on her shoulder to peer at the map she'd tacked to the bathroom wall. "Then north on fifty-five through Kansas till we hit Nebraska."

She shrugged off his hold and snaked a hand back to tug at his hair. "When I agreed to let you share my bath, it was on the condition that you behave."

He licked drops of water off her neck. "I am behaving! We're naked in the tub; you're sitting between my legs; I'm not even copping a feel!"

She snorted. "You are a model of restraint."

He slid his arms around her waist and squeezed. Ran a hand up to cup one of her breasts. "I am."

"Well since you're so goddamn responsible, I think it's time you learned to drive."

He went still. She craned her neck to look at him. "Kai…"

"No, I know. But there's no traffic, so it's not like you have to worry about other drivers. Not only that, but that car practically drives itself. If you get it up to forty and turn on the cruise it keeps you in the lane. It flashes if there's something in your blind spot. It auto-brakes if you get too close to something in front of you. It flashes if you're about to back into something."

He mulled it over a moment. She was probably right, but that didn't make him any less nervous about it. "Okay…" he said with a reluctant frown.

"What if I got hurt and couldn't drive, Nicky? We might be stranded somewhere for weeks!"

He kissed her temple. Tweaked a nipple. "I like being stranded with you."

"Wouldn't be as fun if I were too hurt to drive." She ran a hand down his thigh. "I'd probably be too hurt to do much of anything. No fun bath time." She wiggled against him. "No fun couch time. No fun outside time. No fun kitchen—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." He sighed and ran his fingers through his damp hair. "You're right. I guess we should start...now?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully. Pushed to her feet. He held her hand to steady her as she stepped out, then he stood and pulled the plug. She put her arms around his neck and pressed her naked body against his. "Maybe in an hour or so?"

"You are so goddamn smart."

"That is so true." She kissed him, then strolled to the bedroom. He wrapped a towel loosely around his waist and followed her. Watched hungrily as she scooted backwards onto the bed, leaned against the pillows, drew her knees up and let them fall to either side. She ran both hands down her body and along the insides of her thighs.

He dropped the towel and crawled onto the bed between her legs. She took his face between her palms and kissed him so well and thoroughly that if he could have, he would've whimpered.

When the kiss finally broke he grinned at her like a lovesick idiot and kissed his way down her body. He paused to lick and suck her nipples before moving on. Nibbled at her belly. Turned his head to kiss the inside of one thigh, then the other.

She squirmed in anticipation and he glanced up at her with a smirk. He kept his eye on her face as he pressed his mouth to her labia and slowly ran the tip of his tongue up and down her slit. She caught her lip between her teeth, then her mouth fell open on a rough gasp as he spread her and licked every inch of her.

He flicked his tongue against her clit and then down, to dip inside her, then up again, over and over until her breath came in short little bursts. Between laps he stopped to rub his soft beard against her inner lips, which drove her wild every time. Just when she thought she couldn't take another second of his teasing, he slid two fingers into her and pressed them firmly against her g-spot. Her hips bucked, and he stilled her with a hand on her hip. He watched her steadily as his fingers moved inside of her, circling and fluttering and stroking.

"Nick, fuck, that's so good, I love your fingers inside me, love your mouth!" She didn't sign it, but he didn't mind: he loved watching her lips form the words, her tongue and her teeth, the dirtier the better.

He flashed her that half-smile and dipped his head again. He worked her g-spot with his fingertips and her clit with his lips and tongue. It felt good, so fucking good, the way he found exactly the right spot every time, the way he played with her clit just right, like he'd been doing it for years. He pressed his tongue against her and moved it in a slow circle that gradually sped up as he felt the muscles in her thighs tense. Every rotation took her higher, closer, until she teetered right on the edge. He kept her there for ages, building up and slowing down and then doing it all over again.

"You want to come?" he signed with his free hand. He looked up at her without lifting his head. "Want me to make you come?"

"Yes! Nicky, please! Wanna come so bad, need it!"

He moaned against her, silently, and nodded. "Good girl," he signed. He sucked her clit and flicked it hard and fast with his tongue. His fingers danced against her g-spot and she grabbed a handful of his hair as finally, finally the wave crested and crashed over her.

"Like that, yeah, yes, fuck that's so good!" She went tight around his fingers and squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars. He didn't let up, just kept stroking her g-spot and lathing her clit. She shuddered and jerked and pleaded as a second orgasm tripped hard over the first. Finally she pressed a hand to his forehead and he left her too-sensitive clit, but his fingers stayed inside her.

Her wetness streamed down his hand as he coaxed her higher and higher, a string of mini-quakes that melded into one long, delicious flood of sensation. She was incoherent, strung out and gone.

Finally he eased up, moving to light butterfly strokes and then, at last, letting his fingers slip out of her. Her body went limp and she sprawled like her strings had been cut. He grinned, grabbed the towel off the floor, and wiped his hand to the wrist, then knelt between her legs.

She ran a hand down her face and tried to shake out her rubbery legs. She felt how cotton candy tasted: hazy and melting, a cloud of sweet that floated across your tongue like a whisper, but lingered long after.

"Fuck," she mumbled. She looked at him, a crease between her brows. "How the hell did you keep that up so long?" she signed.

He shrugged. "Sign all day, finger all night, it's who I am."

She smothered a giggle. "You're a fucking nerd, that's who you are." The feeling was starting to return to her extremities. She arched her back in a stretch and crooked her finger at him.

He crawled up her body to kiss her. She licked the taste of her cunt off his lips and carded her fingers through his curls. Her other hand slid down to wrap around his cock. She squeezed. He let out a shaky breath.

"You want to fuck me, love?" she said.

He brushed his nose against hers and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. "You know I do, angel," he signed one-handed as he kissed her neck.  
She dragged her thumb through the drop of pre-come crowning the tip of his cock and offered it to him. He lapped it away and kissed her, hard. Hooked his arms under her knees and slowly, slowly slid into her. She was still incredibly sensitive, and her entire body responded to the exquisite feel of him inside her with a long, sensual shudder. He wrapped one of her legs around his waist and draped the other one over his shoulder, and began to move. Slowly at first, but picking up speed and intensity as her fingers tightened on his shoulders.

"God that's so good, you feel so good, don't stop, I love the way you fuck me!"

"I know, sweet girl," he signed. "It's you, it's all you, can't get enough of you."

She grabbed his ears and pulled him down for a kiss. Nipped at his lips and he moved faster, harder, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Her head fell back and he bit the spot where the pulse pounded in her throat. She fisted a hand in his hair and dug her fingers into the muscles that danced in his back.

He'd meant what he'd said: he couldn't get enough of her; her scent, her taste, her sweat-slicked skin, her breath against his neck, the way she felt wrapped around him. He nibbled the sharp edge of her jaw and mouthed her name against her throat. "Close, beautiful, fuck you're so good!" he signed.

"Yes, Nicky, please!"

That was all it took, the fevered plea he read on her lips. He came hard, in a dizzying rush of heat and euphoria that left him staggered. It was always like this with her. Every time felt like a revelation, a rediscovery of some pure and joyful part of himself he didn't even know he'd been missing.

He didn't know it, because it wasn't like her to put sentiments like that into words, but she felt exactly the same. Sex with him wasn't just sex; it felt like something more, something bigger, and just a few weeks ago she would've thought that was the stupidest idea she'd ever heard. Now as they lay tangled together gasping for breath and tingling all over, she knew it was the simple truth.

He rolled onto his back and tried to breathe. Her arm flopped sideways and somehow she managed to pat his face without poking him in his good eye before letting her hand come to rest in the center of his chest. He dropped his own arm across her body and patted her hip.

"So about those driving lessons…"

She gave a drunken giggle and her head lolled toward him. "Apply half the concentration to learning to drive as you do to going down on me, and you'll have it mastered in no time."

He flipped onto his side with a wide grin and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. "I've mastered going down on you, huh?"

She tilted her head back and forth in a so-so gesture. "Eh. Maybe."

His face scrunched. "Nope, okay, no, turn over, we're going again!" He pounced, tackling her to the bed and blowing raspberries against her neck. She swatted at his shoulders and tried to squirm away, but he held her down and pressed wet, sloppy kisses all along the curve of her shoulder and her chest. Finally he lifted his head to kiss the tip of her nose.

She mussed his hair with both hands and they grinned at each other like fools. "I love you, you goofy idiot."

His smile flickered for a second, then returned as the half-smirk that made her so crazy. " _Your_ goofy idiot, I hope."

She let out a huff that was part nervous, part amused, part touched. "Fuck that's corny."

"You started it." He flopped onto his back and was silent so long she fought the urge to fidget. Finally he nudged her. "I'm deaf but I can hear you worrying."

She threw out a hand in a helpless gesture. "Well—!"

He turned onto his side, grabbed her arm, pulled her against him, and kissed her breathless. "I love you too, Kai. Pretty sure I've loved you since you walked into that police station and forgot you had your sunglasses on your head. I couldn't say anything because, you know."

"I would've run for the hills."

He tapped her nose. "Plus you really would have thought I imprinted on you like a baby duck."

"Oh my God are you ever going to let me live that down?!"

"Nope. Hopefully never. Hopefully we'll be eighty and I'll still be talking about baby ducks."

Her brows lifted. "Three weeks and you're already planning the next sixty years?"

He shrugged. "Just that one moment."

"Oh, that's okay then. I'll be there."

"Good." He ran his nails up and down her back and she arched into him. "I'll be there too. With you."

 **July 18**  
They left bright and early that morning, earlier than he would've liked, but of course she was up near dawn, and by eight she'd dragged him out of bed (after he dragged her back into it for an hour) and into the shower. They had the last of the eggs and bacon for breakfast, along with toast made from some of yesterday's bread, and several mugs of coffee each.

She put fresh sheets on the bed while he cleaned the kitchen, and they met in the bathroom to clean it before putting everything away and moving to the living room.

"Well," she signed.

"Is that everything?"

"I think so. Did you check under the bed?"

He nodded. "Cabinets and closets, too."

She let out a long sigh. "I guess that's it, then."

He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. "I'm glad we came here."

"Me too," she said with a wistful smile. They stepped out onto the porch and she closed the door behind them. "Should I lock it?"

He shook his head. "Leave it open, in case someone comes. It was a good shelter for us; it might be for them too."

"Okay." They walked to the car, and he stopped her for a lingering kiss before opening the door for her. She got in and he checked on the sign he'd nailed to the porch railing:

NICK ANDROS AND KAI D'ARNAUD WERE HERE, 6/25/18 - 7/18/18. ON TO HEMINGFORD HOME, NE VIA 60W, 603W, 55N

"All good?" she said when he got in next to her.

"Yep. But—hang on a sec. I have—I mean I wanted to—" He frowned and scraped a hand back through his hair. Her head tilted in a question. He flashed her a quick, nervous grin, and fished something from his pocket. A small box. "I got you something."

She took it from him with a puzzled smile. "A present? For me?"

"Open it." He did the hair thing again, this time giving the curls a few tugs before he let go. "I'm sorry it's not wrapped. You did such a good job with my eyepatch, but I'm not that crafty, so I just thought—anyway. Open it."

"I don't mind that it's not wrapped. I'm touched you got me something. I got a little silly with the eyepatch. I was just so excited and—" She broke off. "Right. Opening." She drew in a little breath and lifted the lid. Her eyes widened and the breath left in a delighted gasp.

"Do you like it? If you don't I can find something else. Just when I went to get a watch, I saw it and for some reason I thought of you. I don't know why, exactly. It just—reminded me. If you don't like it—"

She waved a hand to stop him. "I love it, Nick. It's beautiful." She pulled it out of the box and held it up to the sunlight: a delicate gold chain with a hammered gold crescent moon dangling from it. There was a little card inside the box that explained it was meant to be worn to represent a waxing moon. "The new moon."

A smile flickered across her lips and when she looked at him he could see the brightness in her eyes. "It's perfect."

"I—um." He felt strangely shy. "I'm glad you like it. Do you want me to—?" He held out his hands to take it from her, and she twisted around in the seat so he could fasten it. His fingers were sensitive and nimble; he got the dainty clasp on the first try, then dropped a kiss on the back of her neck.

She turned to face him again. It hung a few inches below her clavicle, and the gold looked rich against her warm skin. Her fingers danced to it and away. "How does it look?" she said.

His mouth curved in that slow half-smile. "Perfect," he said.

She had flipped down the visor to study her reflection, and when she glanced at him his good eye was trained on her face, not the necklace at all. She blushed. "You aren't even looking!"

He let his gaze drop a moment, then drift back up to her eyes. "Like I said: perfect."

She leaned across the center console and pulled him to her for a long, thorough kiss. "I love you," she said.

"I'm very lovable," he said with a smirk.

She kissed his dimples. The tip of his nose. "Very. Thank you for my necklace. I really do love it."

"Good," he said. He kissed the corner of her jaw. "You're very lovable too."

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Is that why you spoil me and buy me pretty things?"

" _Liberate_ you pretty things, but yes. Exactly."

"Lucky me. An arrangement to make any girl swoon."

He sighed. "I know it's tempting, but please don't swoon, babe. I'm fresh outta smelling salts, and you promised to drive first."

She gave a grave nod and gripped the wheel with both hands. "I'll do my best." She peeked at him. "Ready to go now, or any other surprises lurking in your pants?"

"Well—"

She lifted a finger. "That's not a surprise. Any other other surprises?"

He flashed an insouciant grin and shrugged. "Nope, I guess that's it. Let's get moving."

She backed slowly out of the driveway. She didn't want to go; neither of them did; but they knew it was time. The cabin had sheltered them when they needed it, and now they needed to get on with things. Nebraska and Mother Abagail were waiting.

They made good time that day. She played music from her phone that he could feel through the speaker at his knee. Sometimes she signed the words for him of songs she particularly liked. He drove some, after practicing all day yesterday, and he found that he actually liked it. He didn't have to worry about other drivers, like she'd said, and the feel of the vehicle moving under him at his direction was exhilarating.

"We'll get you a muscle car. You can be a car guy," she said with a teasing grin.

"Can you wear an outfit like Sandy at the end of _Grease_?"

"Only if you do a duck ass hairdo."

He considered it. "We'll table the resolution for now, but negotiations might resume at a later date."

"Whatever you say, greased lightning."

They stopped for a lunch of sandwiches she'd packed back at the house, and drank cold Coke from the cooler. They found a gas station that still had electricity and topped off the gas tank, replaced the cooler's ice, and raided the place for junk food.

"It's not a road trip without Cheetos," she said.

"I like these." He held up a pack of Sno Balls, and she made a face.

"Sorry, kid, I'm allergic to coconut. Eat those and no kisses from me."

He dropped the snack cakes like they'd burned him. When she turned her back he surreptitiously slipped a handful of Almond Joys back on the shelf and sidled away. He almost ran into a little rack of condoms, and when he caught it and set it upright he stood a moment blinking like an idiot.

He tapped a shelf to get her attention and nodded toward the condoms. "So I guess…we can't exactly unring that bell, but…"

She blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

He gave her an incredulous look. "Did the last few days make so little impression on you?"

She looked from him to the rack and back again, and then it clicked. "Oh! Shit. No. I guess I should've told you, but I sort of forgot too? I guess. I have an IUD. No post-apocalyptic bundles of joy for us, I promise."

His mouth fell open. Snapped shut again. His knees went weak with relief as her meaning filtered through his haze of mini-panic. "Oh thank God." He frowned. "Not that—I mean—it wouldn't be—the end of the world—"

"No, we've already lived through that."

"But it wouldn't exactly be—great timing. I can't believe it didn't occur to me before. I feel like an idiot." He shifted his weight. Looked down at his boots a moment, then back up at her with a sheepish expression. "I guess maybe it did occur to me, sort of, somewhere in the back of my mind, but then when you didn't mention it…"

She lifted a brow. His face scrunched.

"I just mean"—he let out a rough sigh of frustration—"I figured either you had it handled, or you…were good. With…taking the chance."

"Were you?" she said, her expression mild.

"I…" He paused to give it some serious thought. A moment ago he'd nearly had a stroke when he realized they'd spent the last few days having copious amounts of unprotected sex, but he also hadn't said anything at the time. And it had occurred to him, more than once, and it wasn't like him to be passive about something so important. He'd never been before.

"I guess I really meant it."

Her held tilted in a question. "Meant what?"

He smiled, slow and soft. "I'm done running. I want to stay put, for you."

She looked away. "I wouldn't trap you with a baby, Nick."

He recoiled in horror. "Kai!" He pulled her around to face him and lifted her chin. Stared steadily into her eyes and gave a stern shake of his head. "That isn't what I meant. At all. I'm glad—it's not something we have to think about right now, because we have enough going on as it is. And I would worry about you a lot. No doctors, coyotes around every corner, awful nightmares—I'd be a goddamn wreck."

He took a long breath. "I love you, Kai. I want you. I want to be with you. There are no traps here. There couldn't be. I know you keep saying we barely know each other, but—"

"No," she said and shook her head. "No, I have to stop saying that, because it's wrong. I feel like I've always known you. Like—my life before was just—steps along the way. To get here. With you."

His mouth quirked. "A gas station in rural Arkansas?"

She nodded gravely. "Exactly." Her lips twitched, and finally she grinned. "I would've said something, but then you didn't, so I don't know—I didn't. Anyway, I've had it about a year. I have really painful periods, and I hate the Pill, so…" She shrugged. "Lucky, I guess, because now I don't have to worry about either babies or tampons."

"How long—do they last?"

"Five years, give or take. But it can come out. I mean—obviously having a doctor remove it is the way you want to go, but you can do it yourself if you can find the strings."

"You know I'm available to assist you in any—"

"Nicholas!" Laughing, she pressed a hand to her face and shook her head. "I'm going to the car. You're impossible."

He gave an easy shrug. "But you love me."

She sighed. Grabbed his shirt to haul him close for a kiss that started out teasing, but turned hot and hungry when she started to pull away and he dragged her back. Their snacks tumbled to the floor, forgotten, as they pressed against each other. He spun her around so that her back was against the rack. Tugged down the strap of her tank top to drop sucking kisses on the swell of her tits.

She pulled him back up for more feverish kisses, and somehow he undid the button and zipper on her shorts and slid his hand into her panties. She bucked against his palm with a moan and he circled her clit hard and fast. No finesse, just need, hot and greedy and demanding.

He shrugged out of his suspenders while she unfastened his trousers. He boosted her onto the edge of a shelf and she kicked her shorts down to her ankles. She shoved his pants and underwear down and he yanked her panties aside and then he was inside her, one rough, deep thrust that sent junk food raining down around them. She gripped his shoulders, he held her hips, and their eyes stayed locked as he fucked her.

"Say it," he signed. He kissed her. Bit her lip and then soothed the spot with his tongue. "Say it, sweet girl."

"I love you," she said aloud. She tangled a hand in his hair. "I love you, Nicky, fuck that's good!"

They didn't speak after that. He pulled her bra down to bare a breast; she arched her back and he nipped and sucked her nipple. He concentrated on getting just the right angle and she wrapped herself around him and it wasn't long before she came, a furious little storm that left her dizzy. His orgasm followed seconds after hers, triggered by the feel of her squeezing around his cock and the filthy things she mouthed through her climax.

They collapsed against each other, panting, until her head fell back on a laugh.

"Well that was a first," she said. "I think a _quick and dirty sex in unusual places_ kink might be awakening in me."

"We should've gone back to the candy store." He offered a sly grin. "And I'm pretty sure I felt the strings."

She giggled and shoved at his shoulder. "Move, you goof. I have to see if I can still walk."

He gave her the handkerchief from his back pocket so she could clean up, then carefully helped her stand. "Good? Not gonna topple?"

"I think I'm okay. You?"

He got his clothes back into place and patted himself up and down. "Yep, it all checks out."

"Smartass," she said with a snort. She pulled her shorts up and fixed her bra. "I was going to the car, wasn't I?"

"Guess you got distracted."

"Guess I did." She wrapped an arm around his waist and kissed him, long and soft and slow. "I do love you, Nick."

"I know. I love you too." He kissed her shoulder. She had some freckles there from the sun, despite her generous use of sunscreen. He thought they looked delicious, like sprinkles of cinnamon, and he wanted to taste every one.

That was maybe a sentiment best expressed at some other time.

"Go on," he said. "I'll get this stuff and meet you out there."

"Okay," she said. "Grab me a Milky Way Dark, will you? I'm suddenly having—cravings—like maybe for pickles? And ice cream?"

He rolled his eyes and threw a snack size bag of pretzels at her. "Shut up and go away. You're as evil as you are sexy. And you hate pickles!"

She grinned, caught the pretzels, and tossed them back. "I'm going. But I meant it about the Milky Way!" She skipped out the door and to the car. Shivered with remembered pleasure at the slight pain between her thighs.

Eventually they'd meet some other people and they'd have to stop fucking like horny bunnies, but in the meantime it wasn't a bad way to live at the end of the world.


	16. Tom Cullen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Kai meet...well. Y'all can read the chapter name.

**now i know a refuge never grows  
from a chin in a hand in a thoughtful pose  
gotta tend the earth if you want a rose**  
Indigo Girls, "Hammer and a Nail"

 **July 19 - AR - OK**  
They stopped that night at a park marked on the map and made camp near a wide, rushing creek that was still deliciously cool even in the height of summer. Nick waded in up to his ankles, but Kai found a swimming hole and took full advantage. They had canned vegetable beef stew for supper and slept curled up together under a sky bursting with stars.

She woke him just after dawn with kisses, and after some slow, lazy morning sex and a quick breakfast they were back on the road. They crossed into Oklahoma around ten AM, and as lunchtime closed in they started looking for a place to stop. Their backroads route took them through dozens of little towns, all of them so far deserted (of the living, anyway), and so when they passed into May, Oklahoma and she spotted the dead body in the road, she wasn't surprised. They had gotten familiar with dead bodies in the last few weeks.

What did surprise the ever-loving fuck out of her was when the body suddenly sprung to its feet and threw itself toward the car. She screamed at full volume and slammed on the brakes. She and Nick were thrown against their seatbelts as the car skidded to a stop inches from the figure. He was tall and broad, with short brown hair, a woolly brown beard, and thick glasses. He looked like a linebacker-turned-lumberjack, and if he was a zombie, he was a formidable one. They shared frightened, wide-eyed glances.

"Not dead?" Nick signed.

"I really hope not, because you assured me many times that this wasn't that type of apocalypse. Are you okay?"

"That was hard on the tits, but yeah, I'm fine." He batted her arm with the back of his hand and pointed over her shoulder.

The man was now at Kai's window jumping up and down and waving. He knocked on the glass and waved again. "Are you real?!" he called through the closed window. "M-O-O-N, that spells _real_! Laws yes! Roll down the window! Or get outta the car! Tom Cullen won't hurt you, laws no! You nearly hit me, didn't you jus'! That's why mama told me not to sleep in the middle of the road! M-O-O-N, that spells _road_!"

Kai glanced back at Nick, and he looked even more confused than she felt. "I guess you should open it…?" he said. "He doesn't look…dangerous."

She tilted her head in acknowledgement and reached for the window control. She left the car running just in case he was dangerous and they had to haul ass outta there. The glass lowered and he bounced up and down in excitement.

"Hello hello!" he said, waving exuberantly. "My name is Tom Cullen and I'm forty-two years old and developmentally disabled. I have trouble recognizing social cues, so please do not be alarmed if my behavior is strange or off-putting. I can't read or write, but I have other skills I can do, including manual labor. Please let me know if you have any odd jobs that you need help with. I live at number Twelve Allen Drive in May, Oklahoma with my mother, Sadie Cullen. Do you have any questions?"

Kai's mouth fell open as the speech progressed, and at the end of it she snapped it shut again. She shot Nick a look, but he just shook his head. She hit the button to kill the ignition and started to open the door, but Tom was blocking it. Nick got out of the passenger side and started around, and when Tom saw him he grinned, ran around the hood, and began his speech all over again. She took a deep breath and got out of the car.

"Tom," she said. She tapped his shoulder (she had to reach way up) and he spun toward her, still with that sunny grin. "Hi, Tom. My name's Kai d'Arnaud. This is my friend Nick Andros." She signed as she spoke, and he watched her hands in fascination. "Nick is deaf and mute. Do you know what that means?"

Tom nodded. "He can't hear or speak! M-O-O-N, that spells _deaf-mute_!"

"That's right. M-O-O-N." She paused, nonplussed. "Anyway. Nick can read your lips, and also he understands when I use sign language, like I'm doing now. He can sign to me, and I can tell you what he's saying, and I'll sign what we're both saying to make sure he understands us."

He turned to Nick, then back to Kai. "That's good, laws yes! Tom hates it when people make it hard to understand things." He spun toward Nick and waved. "Hi Nick, I'm Tom Cullen! I'm forty-two years old—"

"Tom." Kai stopped him again. "It's okay. He got most of it when you told me. Didn't you, Nick?"

He nodded and held up both thumbs. "Nice to meet you, Tom," he signed, and Kai repeated aloud.

"Nice to meet you too, Nick! Laws that's the truth! I've never been so happy to meet anybody as I am to meet y'all!" He paused a moment, and his sunny expression clouded for the first time. "She told me y'all might be here today."

Kai and Nick shared a look. "She?" Kai said.

He grinned again. "Mother Abagail! Hemingford Home, Nebraska. M-O-O-N, that spells _Hemingford Home_! I have dreams about her sometimes, and I had one last night and she told me to look for you today—but I forgot." He scuffed a huge work boot against the asphalt. "I got into the liquor store. Daddy told me to stay away from liquor, but everyone's gone and Tom got lonely and at first I felt real happy, but then kinda sick, then I got sleepy and took a nap."

They glanced at each other again. Nick's brow rose. Kai tilted her head. He lifted his palm in a shrug. She flicked her brows upward and her mouth quirked. "We've dreamt about Mother Abagail too," she said. "We're heading to Hemingford Home if you'd like to come with us."

Tom gaped at her, then at Nick. "Really?!"

"Yeah, really. Isn't that why Mother Abagail told you to look for us?"

He lifted both arms in the air and turned in a circle. Punched the sky and hopped up into the air. "Hemingford Home!" he cried. "Tom and Nick and Kai goin' to Hemingford Home!"

Nick cast her a puzzled look as Tom's victory dance continued. "Pretty sure that's a yes," she signed.

"He'll slow us down," he signed.

"I know that. But we can't leave him here alone. He already drank himself into a stupor. What other trouble might he get into? He plays with matches next and burns the place down? Discovers the local meth dealer's secret lair and thinks it's rock candy?"

"Of course we can't leave him. Softie." He nudged her shoulder with his. "I love you."

She snorted. "You're the softie. And I love you too."

"Woooo! Hemingford Home! Do you wanna leave now? I should pack my stuff first. You wanna come back to my house? I live at number Twelve Allen Drive, and I used to live with my mama, but she died."

Kai's brow creased in sympathy. "I'm sorry, Tom. Nick and I lost our moms when we were kids."

"Oh, I wasn't a kid. She got the flu and died two weeks ago." He paused. Shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and pulled them out again. Shuffled his feet. "I buried her in the backyard, because Mr. Shelton down at the funeral home went off to Okie City with everybody else in town, so there weren't nobody there to help me. I said a prayer for her."

She was translating everything to Nick, and at this last bit, he gave Tom's arm a sympathetic pat. "It sounds like you did good," he signed. "What do you mean, everyone went to Okie City?"

He shrugged his big shoulders. "My mama and our neighbor stayed, but everyone else in town ran off, mama said to Okie City. They didn't wanna stick around here cuz it's a do-nothin' town. That's what people say, _do-nothin'_. My daddy ran off with Miss DeeDee Packalott, M-O-O-N that spells _DeeDee Packalott_ , but that's when I weren't no more'n ten. Everybody left and mama died, and then it was just Tom all by hisself."

Nick and Kai exchanged another look. Everyone just took off and left Tom and an old lady alone? Weren't small towns supposed to take care of each other? _Love thy neighbor_ and all that shit?

"I'm sorry they did that, Tom," Kai said. "But don't worry: you're not alone anymore. We'd love to see where you live. Hop in the car and you can point the way for us."

He let out another whoop and ran for the car. Nick moved his seat up to make room, and Tom chattered the whole three blocks to his house. It was a neat little brick ranch set back from the road, with a giant magnolia in front. The tree reminded Kai so forcefully of home that for a moment she sat frozen, staring at the spreading limbs, waxy leaves, and big white blossoms with a sliver of pain piercing her right through the middle.

Tom was already halfway up the front walk, still talking, but Nick hadn't moved. He touched the back of her hand where it gripped the steering wheel, and she jerked her eyes away from the tree.

"Sorry," she said. "I just—got homesick for a sec. It's stupid."

He shook his head. "You haven't given yourself time to mourn it, Kai. It's bound to hit you now and then."

"Who's got that kind of time?" she said. "It's too dangerous to look back. You get trapped there." Her mouth curved as her eyes moved from the tree to him. "Besides, I've got everything I need here in the present."

He cupped her face; stroked her cheek with his thumb; and leaned closer for a soft kiss. "We can stop here overnight," he said. "You could bake something. Bread, maybe, or cinnamon rolls."

That perked her up, as he knew it would. "Even if there aren't supplies in the house, I might be able to pick something up at the grocery store. We can ask Tom."

He smiled and started to kiss her again, but her gaze shifted to over his shoulder and she tapped his arm. He twisted around to find Tom standing outside the car staring at them.

"Y'all can come in. I'll show you my room! And you can meet the gals!"

She and Nick exchanged confused looks, and they both got out of the car to join him in the yard. "The gals?" she said. "I thought everyone left town?"

He grinned and rolled his eyes. "The gals aren't humans, silly billy! Laws no! They're chickens. Miss Ruby and her free range gals! We've got Miss Ruby and Miss Emerald and Miss Opal and Miss Pearl! M-O-O-N, that spells _chickens_!"

"Chickens?" That perked Nick up like the idea of baking something had done for her. "You've got chickens?"

"I just told you I do! They live in the backyard. Mr. Simpson down the road built us a coop, but Tom helped, laws yes!" Tom froze, his expression going slack. "We're goin' to Hemingford Home, right?" he said after a moment.

"That's right, Tom," Kai said. "Isn't that where you wanted to go?"

He nodded, slowly. "It is, but—what about the gals?! Who'll take care of them? I gotta feed them every day and give them fresh water and make sure they're put up snug at night so the foxes don't get at 'em! That's what Mr. Simpson said when we built their coop!"

She glanced at Nick, but his expression had turned thoughtful. "I guess you'll have to open the fence for them so they can get out to get their own food," she said. "Chickens eat pretty much anything."

"I can't do that!" Tom said. He scrubbed a big hand over his head and began to pace back and forth. "No no no, can't do that. There's coyots out there, and everybody knows the coyots is his. Foxes and weasels, too. Can't let the gals get ate! They're Tom's responsibility, laws yes, M-O-O-N, that spells _responsibility_!"

Kai's mouth fell open in dismay. Chickens! They were chickens! What the hell were they supposed to do about chickens?!

Nick touched her arm, and the look on his face sent a wave of tiredness through her. "You want to bring chickens with us to Nebraska," she signed, not a question.

He nodded. "I can build them a box. It wouldn't have to be very big. Just four chickens. And we'd have eggs on the road! Unless they got broody, which might happen. But we'd have eggs in Nebraska, or wherever we end up. And if we found a rooster they could make more chickens and we could help save chickens from extinction!"

She scowled at him. " _Save chickens from extinction_ my ass!"

"Tom's right: there are too many predators for chickens to survive in the wild, and any farm chickens that were left cooped up—" He broke off, because he knew if she got to thinking about animals left caged as humans died off, she'd be out for the rest of the day. No amount of baking would bring her back from that spiral. "I'm just saying. It's worth looking into."

Tom had been looking back and forth between them with keen curiosity, and he seemed to understand what it meant when Kai threw her arms in the air: a universal gesture of defeat. "We can take the gals with us?!" he said.

"Yeah, Tom," she said, wearily. "As long as Nick can figure out something to transport them in, we can take the gals with us."

"Hooray!" He punched the air and danced a little jig. "Come on, Nick, we got lots of wood and chicken wire and tools back in the shed. Tom'll help you!" He grabbed Nick's arm and dragged him toward the backyard. Nick looked back at her with a helpless shrug, but she could tell he was thrilled.

Kai stood watching them go, then glanced around the empty yard. "Well. I guess I'll just…show myself in."

* * *

When Nick came to bed that night it was almost ten, relatively early, but working by candlelight was a pain in the ass, so they tended to turn in not long after dark. Tom had been excited all day as he helped Nick figure out a portable chicken coop and showed Kai around his house. He took her to his room, where he had posters of Dolly Parton, Superman, and Sailor Moon ("M-O-O-N, that spells _Dolly Parton_ "), along with a ton of toys, mostly cars and racetracks. He was delighted by the idea of homemade bread, and she gave him a ball of dough to knead and shape all on his own.

She'd turned in around nine, leaving the boys to plan their portable chicken coop. Nick couldn't speak aloud and Tom couldn't read, but somehow they communicated better than one would think. She was happy to see Nick so excited about something, and she'd only known Tom about eight hours, but she'd already take a bullet for him.

That night when the bedroom door opened she looked up from her book and smiled. He looked exhausted, and he offered her a tired wave and pointed toward the bathroom. She nodded and blew him a kiss.

The house still had running water, but not hot, so she heard the toilet flush, then the sink turn on, but not the shower. A few minutes later he emerged, stripped down to his shorts and hair wet. He dropped his clothes onto the pile in the corner and crawled into bed next to her.

He kissed her, then collapsed with his head in her lap. "I have never seen someone with that much energy in my life," he signed.

She grinned and combed her fingers through his damp curls. "Poor baby. Didn't you say he'd slow us down?"

"On the trip, yes. Now? He's almost twenty years older than us but I feel ancient."

"Old man Andros. How's Operation Chicken Haul going?"

"Hang on." He rolled off the bed and dug through his pants pockets. Made a face, held up a hand, and disappeared into the hall. He came back carrying several sheets of paper. He spread them across the bed and climbed up to sit next to her. She frowned down at the drawings and then looked at him, wide-eyed.

"Nicky, did you draw these?"

He gave a modest shrug. "Just rough sketches."

They were a lot more than rough sketches. They looked like professional schematics. For a portable chicken coop. "These are awesome. The bottom comes out?"

He nodded and pulled a sketch closer. He spent the next ten minutes or so explaining his design, and by the time he was done she was thoroughly impressed.

"Wow, I had no idea you were an architect."

He made a face. "That's overstating a little."

"I don't know. It's just on a smaller scale. I think Miss Ruby and the gals will be very comfy on their first road trip."

"You think taking chickens is ridiculous."

She sighed. "No, I don't. I thought it would be impractical. Take too much time and work for not much payoff. But you're both right: we can't just leave them here to be prey. And the eggs'll be welcome. And now that I've seen this…" She trailed off with a shrug. "It'll work, as long as the ladies cooperate."

He smiled at her, slow and sweet, and she brushed a curl off his forehead. "What's that look for?" she said.

"Nothing in particular. Just—earlier I was thinking what all this would've been like without you."

"Hmm," she said. "Fewer orgasms, probably."

"Probably." He stroked his thumb down the healing scratch on her cheek, then kissed the spot. "But you know that's not all."

She leaned in and brushed her nose against his. Pressed a kiss to his cheek below the eyepatch. "I wouldn't want anyone else as my designated apocalypse buddy," she said.

His mouth quirked. "I'm glad I'm not alone—but more than that, I'm glad it's you."

She pushed him against the headboard and climbed into his lap. He gave her a lazy half-grin and ran his hands up her back so that she arched into his touch with a soft sigh. She took one of his hands in hers and kissed the tip of each finger. Each knuckle. The center of his palm. He watched her with an amused expression, and she smiled up at him.

"I love your hands," she said. She pressed her palm against his and he curled his fingers between hers. "How big they are. How good it feels when you touch me."

He was still wearing that insouciant half-smile. With his free hand he slid the strap of her tank top off her shoulder and kissed the cinnamon sprinkle freckles he loved so much. He trailed his fingertips along the curve of her shoulder and down the back of her arm. She shivered.

"Tickles," she said.

He kissed her neck and she ran both hands through his hair. "Do you know what Tom asked me?" he said.

"There's no telling."

He kissed her other shoulder. Stroked her neck and used his thumbs to massage behind her ears. "He wanted to know if you're my girlfriend."

She grinned. "Why? Is he gonna ask me out?"

"Ha. No, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure his heart belongs to Dolly." He kissed across her chest as he signed it with one hand. Nibbled at her collarbones and sucked a little mark onto the swell of her breast.

"I got that impression too." She tugged at his hair to pull his head up and kissed him until they were both breathless. The familiar hot, achy restlessness was building low in her belly, but she tried to stay cool. "What did you tell him?"

"Well, you know, my communication with Tom is a bit…limited. So I just nodded and gave him a thumbs up." He slid his hands up her body, dragging her top with him as he went. He cupped her bared breasts and nipped at her jaw. Kissed up and down her neck, flicking her soft skin with his tongue and sucking a bit.

Her head fell back on a quiet moan and she squirmed against him. "Girlfriend, huh?"

He shrugged. Tugged one of her nipples between two knuckles. Did it again, harder, based on her reaction. "That feel good, sweet girl?"

She nodded. "Uh huh. Do it again."

He did, with a knowing grin, then lowered his head to suck each nipple in turn, swirling his tongue against them in unrelenting circles. "What would you prefer?" he said when he lifted his head again. "Partner? Apocalypse buddy? Radiant goddess whose presence I am fortunate enough to bask in?"

She shivered when the breeze from the open window caressed skin wet and tender from his mouth. "That last one has potential, but it's kinda long."

His expression turned thoughtful as he wiggled his hand between them to push her panties aside and stroke her pussy with two fingers. "You've never complained about that before," he said.

"Not"—she let out a rough breath when his fingertips found her clit—"complaining now. Just for convenience sake, maybe something a little simpler."

"My hands might get tired trying to sign all of that."

"I don't know about that." She bit her lip as he dipped his fingers inside her and the heel of his hand ground against her clit. "You've got amazing hands."

"So you said." He nuzzled her neck and kissed the pulse point when her chin lifted. "You've got amazing everything."

Her laugh was breathless as he curled his fingers just right. "Flatterer."

He shook his head. "Truth."

More soft, sucking kisses up and down her neck, perfectly designed to make her crazy, and curling his fingers inside her over and over. Palm dragged toward fingertips and across her clit every time. It was a slow, delicious dance that melted her bones and sent molten sparks spiraling through her. She moved against him so that her extra-sensitive nipples brushed his chest, and he flashed another of those wry smirks.

"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?"

She gave a quiet moan and nodded. "You know I am," she signed. "Don't stop!"

"Let me see you say it." He rubbed his thumb across her full mouth. "Tell me."

She tangled her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck and gripped his shoulder with the other hand. Rocked against him faster as his fingers went deeper, palm pressed harder. "Gonna come for you, Nicky!" she breathed. "Gonna come all over your hand. Feels so fucking good, gonna come so hard!"

"Good girl," he signed. His own breath was ragged and harsh, and she let go of his shoulder to wrap her fingers around his cock. She stroked him through the cotton of his boxer briefs, then slid her hand into the opening to find his hot, hard length eager and waiting for her. He throbbed against her palm, and she swirled her thumb through the pre-come at the tip to coat the head. His forehead dropped to rest against hers and soon they were moving in sync: his fingers inside her, hers tight around him, their hips rocking together in an increasingly desperate rhythm.

"Fuck, baby!" he said. "Like that!"

She ran her tongue over her lower lip and kissed him, hard and straining and greedy with need. "Love you, baby," she gasped when the kiss broke. "Love how you feel, love the way you fuck me!"

He stopped trying to sign—his brain was scrambled like an egg—and instead buried his free hand in her hair and just held on. A few more strokes from his fingers and rough jerks of her hips and her pretty mouth fell open as she went tight around him and the heat swallowed her.

"Nicky! Nick yes that's so good, so good yes!"

The rush of wetness that filled his palm and the exquisite friction from her hand finished the job her body moving against his had started, and his cock jumped in her grip. He let out a hard, uneven breath. The come pumped over her hand and onto her thigh in heated spurts as his own orgasm crashed over him.  
They shuddered through it together, him mouthing her name and words of love and desire, her holding onto him like she might fly away if she didn't.

Finally she slumped against him and he eased his fingers out of her dripping cunt. He held up his shiny hand and shook his head in mock disapproval. "You made a mess."

She lifted a brow. "You are one to talk, sir. I have your come dripping down my wrist _and_ my thigh. And not in the usual way it does the latter."

The crease appeared above the bold line of his nose. He hadn't even asked her first. "We've never—done that before. I hope—it's okay."

"I would have stopped if it weren't okay." She bit her lip and looked away. Looked back again, and she was blushing. "I kind of like it. Sometimes."

The worry drained out of him and he smiled, warm and mellow, and gave an easy nod. "I like finding out what you like." He ran a wet fingertip through the thick white stuff on her inner thigh. "Don't ever be afraid to tell me. Or—if you don't like something. I want to know."

"I know," she said. "And normally I'm not shy about things like that. Just—a lot is different with you."

"Different…good?" he said. He thought good, but maybe he was reading this all wrong.

She nodded. "Different very good." She spread her arms wide. "But," she said, shrinking again, "I think that makes me even more afraid of fucking it all up."

"Babe…I don't think there's anything you could tell me in that area that would fuck this up. I already know you don't like nipple clamps or pet play." He gave her shoulder a quick kiss. "Tell me the wildest thing you're into."

"Oh geez."

"Come on. Just lay it on me. I promise I can take it."

Her face screwed up as she thought it over. "Okay, well—it's not really that wild, to be honest, but it tends to freak straight men out."

His brows rose in a question.

"Pegging," she said with a little shrug. "Like I said, not that crazy, but straight men can be so goddamn weird."

He nodded, slowly, but inside the gears were whirring and his good eye was wide and bright. "You might remember that I'm not straight."

"I do seem to recall that, yes."

He lifted her off his lap and held up both hands for her to stay put. "Wait right there. Don't move. I'm going to get a washcloth, then we're going to talk about this more in-depth. No pun intended, except maybe a little bit."

He dashed to the bathroom and she leaned back against the pillows with a giggle. She felt loose and warm from her orgasm and she found herself hoping their conversation would lead to more of them. He reappeared, washcloth in hand, and gently wiped his come off her skin, then kissed where it had been. Inner thigh kisses led to other kisses and it was twenty minutes and two more orgasms (for her) later that they finally had that conversation.


End file.
